


Stars Align

by Siriusfanatic



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and fluff and then more angst and more fluff, Captivity, Drama & Romance, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sexual Coercion, Threesome - M/M/M, Youth Restoration, mermaids and mermen, sea lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: Almost a year after the ordeal at the fountain, Hector and Jack are making a new start for themselves on the seven seas. Though The Black Pearl has remained regrettably trapped within it's cursed bottle, it hasn't stopped the pair from conquering much of the ocean and carving out safe havens for pirates against the still looming threats of the British and Spanish empires. But it isn't long before the tides turn again, and once more Jack Sparrow finds himself visited by ghosts of his past...this time in a very, terrifyingly literal sense.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *This story does not follow canon timeline, please be advised  
>  *This story is a continuation of the timeline set by previous stories "Choices of Men and Gods" and "Ripple Effect". Please read these before continuing or you will likely be VERY confused on several major points.
> 
> *Carina and Henry's ages are both vastly divergent in this story from movie canon. Henry is still a toddler, Carina is 13-14. Again, this is an AU and again this story does not follow canon timeline.

 

 

 

 

                Midsummer had come again, bringing with it balmy days filled with golden sun and fair winds, and nights that were deep and star-washed. And the only thing that could compare with the vastness of the wide diamond speckled sky above, as the mysteries that lurked in the blue fathoms beneath it.

                Not far off the coast of St. Martin’s, a mid-sized frigate was drifting on calm waters. The night was still humid from the day’s earlier intense heat, and though it was well past midnight now the air had not cooled as much as one would hope, as there was only the faintest of breezes on the water.

                Still, the crew made themselves merry enough. Those who were still up and about on deck, sang and drank and whittled away the hours on watch with the usual tales; treacherous and gallant pirates, noble naval officers, monsters that lurked in dark depths between distance shores and ghosts of sailor’s long past, who never found their eternal rest.

                Hobbes was the bosun of ship; a broad shouldered, middle-aged man who had sailed these waters most of his life, he felt he had heard all the stories a thousand times over. Though he had to admit that in recent years, new stories had started to emerge…or perhaps the old ones were just getting stranger and stranger…and more specific.

                Hobbes was not a man of imagination and so, did not much care for any of this. All he wanted was to get to St. Martin’s and pick up his next cargo and the rest of his pay so that he could spend a few well-deserved nights in a brothel with a pretty girl or two.

                But his company that evening, did not share his ‘practical’ tastes. He was a much younger lad, brown hair, knobby knees, neck like a giraffe. And overall, awkward, gangly youth who was still a little too starry-eyed about a sailor’s life. He and a handful of other men were sitting close, swapping stories of the wild and weird things they’d seen on their journeys, each trying to top the next.

                “Come off it, Toby! You never saw any such thing!” the boy, named Joshua quipped, though it was clear he hoped he was wrong.

                “I did too! Hand to God and strike me blind! I’m telling you, the whole damn crew, everyone of ‘em dead, not but bits of skin and bones, standing there plain as you please in the moonlight with their swords and their guns, ready to tear us all to shreds! I was just one of the lucky ones to survive, the way they crept up on us!”

                “Yer drunk,”

                “So what if I am! I told you all before, ye don’t know the weird things that go on in Port Royal. That place is cursed…has been, ever since the day that ruddy pirate showed up!”

                The group of sailors laughed quietly at their friend’s familiar rant, for it was a tale they had all heard well enough before. The adventure of Captain Jack Sparrow and his cursed ship The Black Pearl, and how he fell in love with the governor’s daughter…or was it a blacksmith? It seemed different every time Toby told the story.

                “If you ask me, I think they just made that story up about pirates to cover the fact that their officers were completely incompetent. One small ship, no matter how fast, no matter how clever it’s captain, should be able to take on such a well fortified place as Port Royal, and yet it’s happened not once, but twice!”

                “Aye!”

                “Yes well, count your blessings that you’re not part of the King’s navy and needn’t subject yourselves to such nonsense,” Hobbes replied, lighting his pipe, the orange glow of which briefly illuminated his face in the dark. “Pirates aren’t anything mystical or magical to be whispered about like they were children’s ghost stories. They’re not but outlaws and cast offs, leeching off the life-blood of the rest of the world. They’re a disease to be sure, but they’re mortal. And that’s all there is to it.”

                “What about them skeletons? Or those rumors about The Flying Dutchman?” Joshua asked.

                “Superstitions made up by idiots like yourselves to make children cry and piss themselves.”

                “Captain Jack Sparrow isn’t a superstition,” the boy said then, very plainly and firmly, staring down the older man. “Last I heard, him and that other captain, the one that was once his rival, Barbossa, have been prowling the Caribbean Sea, plundering ships where they like. They’re neigh unstoppable, and even the British Navy itself won’t take ‘em on.”

The rest of the crew around him grew quiet. Hobbes eyed the boy sharply in the dark. “That so?”

“Aye, sir. I’ve seen their ship once. A great treasure gallon with blood red sails.”

“Yer a liar.”

“It’s true! Say what you like, but the tales of Jack Sparrow are _true_! His cursed ship, the battle with Davy Jones and the East India Trading Company, that he was killed by the Kraken, only to return from the dead!”

“That’s enough,” Hobbes grumbled, standing up then, looking as if he’d beat the boy for telling such bold-faced lies. He grabbed him by the front of his tunic and dragged him up from the deck, giving him a shake. “You’d best grow up quickly, lad, or you’re not going to survive this life long. Next thing you’re going to be telling me is that stupid tale about Sparrow and the mermaids!”

There was a splash then from the starboard side of the deck, which caught their attention. The crew looked round at each other in confusion for a moment, and then Hobbes moved closer to the rail and peered over in the dark.

Land was in sight, but they were still miles from shore and there was not another ship, nor even a smaller boat out upon the water that evening, save for themselves. The ocean was calm and dark below them, but they watched, sure something was there.

Then a new noise, soft in the distance interrupted them. They turned towards the bow of the boat, the group of them following along the rail one after the other, until Joshua, who as in the very front, spotted it.

“There! Look there! A man in the water!”

Sure enough, there was a man in the distance, clinging to cluster or rocks jutting up from the ocean floor. He was calling out to them, waving his hands, trying to get their attention.

“Where did he come from?” one of the other sailors wondered aloud in astonishment, “I swear we’ve been drifting in these waters for hours, no sign of him until now!”

“Maybe we just couldn’t see him in the dark. Call the Captain, ready a row boat!”

It was Toby then who looked harrowed and pale in the moonlight who shook his head. “Belay that. Leave that man be.”

“What? Sir, he’s obviously been shipwrecked, we need to rescue him!”

“You see any ‘wrecks’ around here, boy?” the older sailor said. Behind him Hobbes was looking increasingly annoyed with the situation and put his hand on Toby’s arm.

“Lay off. Ye’ve had too much to drink tonight, Toby. Ye wouldn’t let a man drown, just cause yer drunk and superstitious.”

“I’m telling you,” Toby hissed. “That’s not a man. Have ne’re _any_ of you listened to my tales? Or any tales of the ocean that caution you against things such as this! Some comely creature appearing from no where, beckoning ships to their doom upon unseen rocks below, or pulling them down to the depths to meet Davey Jones himself!”

Hobbes knocked him aside as they made for the rowboat.

 

 

By the captain’s orders, a group rowed out towards the rocks, the lantern hanging from the head of their ship swaying faintly in the dark.

As they drew closer, they saw it was indeed a man, who was huddled up on the little dry space the rock allowed him, completely naked. “Oh thank God…thank _God!_ ” The man called, looking tearfully enthusiastic towards them. “Please, please help me!”

“We’ve got ya man, take my hand.”

The shivering man upon the rock climbed awkwardly inside the small rowboat with the other two sailors, who were quick to put a blanket around him and allowing him to warm and cover himself.

“Thank you! Oh thank you, sirs, I thought I was finished…”

The man was somewhere in his late twenties, with a head of black hair that dripped down his head and touched the nape of his neck, the longer bits pulled back in a stubby ponytail while the longer bits hung inky tendrils across his forehead. His skin was tan and had an odd sheen to it in the moonlight if anyone looked very closely.

“Steady there, you’re safe now. What’s your name, son?”

“Theodore,” the man answered. “Theodore Groves.”

They returned to the boat in short order and helped the shipwrecked survivor aboard the frigate. The Captain, a stalwart man with stern features and a large black mole above his right eye gazed back at him.

“Welcome aboard _The Mariner_ good sir. Name yourself, and tell us what brings you to drifting in the middle of these waters.”

“Calls himself Groves, sir,” Joshua said, standing next to the man, eyeing him in vague fascination.

“I’m grateful for your help, Captain.” Groves said, voice a bit clear and sure now that he was on deck again. He glanced around at the crew as if searching for someone. “I had fallen overboard from own vessel some time ago, and I’ve been trying to make my way toward land. Alas, I’m not a very strong swimmer and the tides last evening were rather intense. I took refuge on the rocks, but no one has come until you came. I’ve been two days without water or food, I was certain I was finished.”

Hobbes patted him on the back, feeling a rather firm bit of muscle upon the younger man’s frame. “Count your blessings, lad. It would have been all too easy for us to pass you in the dark on a night like this.”

“Where was your ship headed, Mr. Groves? Perhaps we could escort you, or take you to port where you might find passage elsewhere.” The Captain offered.

“Port-Au-Prince, Captain.”

“That is not too great a journey from here. You are lucky you were spotted.” He looked the man up and down. “What happened to your clothes?”

Groves wrapped the woolen blanket a little closer around him, “As I said sir, I’m not a strong swimmer. They were weighing me down.”

Toby, the Captain and Hobbes all looked at the man suspiciously, but it was Toby who raised his sword to him.

“Now that’s not exactly the truth, is it?”

Theodore blinked back at him, cautious of the blade but not exactly afraid of it. “I’m sorry?”

“Theodore Groves…well, I certainly admit I wouldn’t have recognized you just from looking at you. It’s been a long time since the last time I saw your face. Thought you’d been killed on that ill-fated voyage to the Americas.”

At this Groves studied the man a little closer, and Toby smiled back at him in a wily manner. “Coming back to you, is it?”

“Tobias Finch…yes, I remember you. You were new to Port Royal when we served under Commodore Norrington.”

Toby, or rather Tobias, chuckled. “Seems our fortunes have changed quite a bit since then.”

“Indeed. You’ve given up service and become a merchant sailor.”

“And you a pirate.”

The rest of the crew grew very quiet then.

It was Joshua who spoke up then, though his voice cracked. “Come on now, Toby…there’s no reason to think…I mean just because—“

But Toby wasn’t swayed and kept his sword pointed at Grove’s neck. Slowly, the black-haired man just smiled. “Ah, Tobias. I always did like you. But after our little adventure aboard _The Dauntless,_ I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong idea about some things.”

“I don’t think it’s me who has the wrong idea about things,” Tobias replied. “What are you really doing out here in the middle of the water on a rock? You didn’t fall off any ship.”

Groves sighed then, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders and stood there starkly in front of all of them. “You’re right. I didn’t. But I do indeed require your help. You see, I’m looking for someone. Captain Barbossa and Captain Jack Sparrow, last seen on a return voyage from Whitecap Bay. Now you remember them, don’t you?”

At this, much of the crew skittered further back from the man, seeming very nervous indeed. Even Joshua took a step back then. “What ye be wanting with the likes of them scoundrels?” Tobias laughed.

“Well, as you so eloquently put it yourself… _pirate_.”

Toby lunged, meaning to slice the man at the neck, but Groves easily dodged the blow, grabbed the man by the hilt of the sword, threw a hard punch into his face and knocked him flat upon the deck. Other sailors moved forward to subdue the man, only to meet the same rough treatment. Groves was a surprisingly agile fighter, and even stronger than he looked. They came at him by the handfuls, but he would not be put down.

Hobbes managed to grab him from behind then and began to wrestle him, trying to pull him down to the deck. Groves let out a noise that was something akin to a hiss, which startled the old sailor, but not enough to let go.

Groves struggled, and in the tussle the two both went right over the rail of the ship, plunging down into the water below.

The surf hit Hobbes hard across his back and his shoulders and he barely had time to hold his breath before salt water was surging up his nose and burning his eyes. He coughed and struggled, and finally let Groves go as he struggled back up towards the surface.

He broke, hacking and sputtering, eyes burning. He looked around, hearing shouts from the ship above him, expecting the pirate to surface beside him. Instead he felt something large swimming next to him, a long tail slithering between his flailing legs.

Hobbes shrieked and looked around wide-eyed. “What was that?!”

“Hobbes! Where is he!? Where’d he go?!” The men above him shouted, but the wide-eyed sailor barely heard them.

He could feel the current created by whatever was circling him, feel the brush of a long, muscular form and scales brushing up against his skin. He shrieked again, trying to get closer to the boat as a life line was tossed down to him. “Get me up! Get me out of here! There’s something down here!”

No sooner had he grabbed the life line than a long fish tail, unlike any he had seen before in his life, surfaced from the water and with a mighty swing snapped the line from his hand. Hobbes shouted as something rushed him and pushed him through the water, grabbing him from below.

Then, quite abruptly, he was hurled upwards, propelled by a great force as he watched the man who called himself Theodore Groves erupt from the waves, dragging him upward with him as he leapt in a wide arch towards the deck of the ship.

Hobbes gawked, forgetting to breathe. The man was no _man_ at all, but rather a supernatural creature of the deep, a merman. Gills were now visible on the sides of his throat, and scales edged the sides of his face, so fine and thin that they blended seamlessly into his skin. They glittered pale gold in the moonlight.

Together they slammed down upon the deck, Hobbes landing with a wet thud, while the half-man, half-creature beside him reared upwards, propping himself up on his hands as he glared back at the crew. His fish tail was nearly twice the length of his torso, the glittering scales beginning below the dip of his naval, standing out like bright copper coins that tapered down into sleek, dark blue and green. It lashed back and forth across the deck, threatening to strike anything and anyone that came too close to it, the large fan of the tail smacking against the wood of the deck.

Tobias stared back at him, white as a sheet. “I told you! _I told you!!_ ”

Groves glared back at the men who surrounded him, fangs bared, webbed and clawed fingers raking across the deck. “Alright, gentlemen,” he muttered. “The choice before you is simple;” he looked directly at Tobias. “Tell me where I can find _The Queen Ann’s Revenge_ , and I’ll let you go about your business. If not…I’ll sink this ship.”

The Captain made to shoot him, but Groves’ tail rose and cracked across him like a whip, curling around the man before heaving him over the side of the boat and sending him crashing down into the water below.

“Anyone else feeling brave?” he hissed, eyes narrowed.

“The Queen Ann was last seen off the coast of Cuba!” Joshua cried then. Groves turned his head and fixed the boy with a careful look, seeing him shake as he gazed back at him.

“Thank you, lad. At least one of you has some brains.” He nodded gratefully and turned, long tail slashing around in front of him, colliding with the sailors that were closest to him and knocking them off their feet as he took hold of the rail and threw himself overboard again.

The remaining sailors rushed across the deck, some firing pistols and harpoons into the water, but there was hardly so much as a splash where Theodore had disappeared below the dark blue surface of the waves.

Joshua had drifted away from the others, staring across the keel of the ship, seeing what the thought was the flash of a luminescent blue-green tail briefly surfacing before vanishing again. Then, as he looked closer still, he thought he saw several more following it, in colors of gold and green and silver.

He rubbed his eyes, hardly daring to believe what he had just seen. It seemed like he would finally have a tail to tell that would even top Toby’s next time they came into port.

 

 

**

 

                But the merman was far from the only one out on the water, hunting for the same infamous pirate lords.

                Not so many miles away, creeping along the dark waters edging towards Puerto Rico, a small ship creaked and groaned on the waves, it’s patched and torn sails at half-canvas, drifting through the water at a presently unhurried pace. Aboard it was one man, the sole crew member of the aging and derelict vessel.

                Bootstrap Bill Turner stood at the helm, his eyes burning somewhat with tired determination as he looked again at the stars above him to determine his course. Clouds obscured the sky in patches here and there, but the wind was blowing quick and sure that night, moving them along at a steady pace. And above these, the moon was high and bright with a deep orange cast to it.

                Bill did not like the look of it; it had an ill omen about it. But the blood moon that it foreshadowed would not be at its full completion for several more days yet. Bill figured he had until then to make it to his next port.

                He had been sailing for months, drifting in and out of ports along the Bahamas and the Caribbean, searching everywhere for one man and one ship; Jack Sparrow, and his fabled _Black Pearl_. This, and this alone, had been Bill’s all-consuming thought for some time now, ever since he’d taken leave of _The Flying Dutchman_ and his son, whom was the ghostly ship’s new captain.

                When Will had become Captain, Bill had felt a sense of relief. He had nearly lost Will in the battle, and it was only by Jack’s quick thinking that the boy had been revived and given a second chance at life. Though it wasn’t much of a life he lived now.

                Bound to The Dutchman and it’s duties, Will’s fate had taken a difficult turn, one that hurt Bill to see. True, he had his son again, and as long as he was captain he would never fear for his life or safety for no mortal thing could harm him, and there were fewer immortal beings who would dare. But it was not the life he wanted for Will. And over the months that had turned into years, Bill watched helplessly as his child languished in this new role as farrier of souls, separated from his own wife and child.

                Bill had not been a proper father to his son in the past. He had selfishly forsaken all of that to run off with a man he barely knew, to chase a dream of adventure, riches and love…real love. Or so he had thought.

                Nothing had quite turned out as old Bootstrap had planned, or he would not be standing here on a half-rotted ship, sailing alone through the night, hunting down the only man he thought he could help him; the one who had begun this whole bizarre journey for him; Jack Sparrow.

                Bootstrap sang softly to himself in the night wind, trying to keep himself awake as waves thunked against the helm and rolled the warped deck under his feet. His days were long, lonely and desperate and the only thing that kept him moving forward, rather than succumbing to madness was thinking about his goal; find Jack. If he could find Jack, it would all come together, somehow, someway. _It had to._

                In the far distance, he noticed a cluster of jagged rock formations, jutting up from the water like shards of black glass, sharp and perilous. Bill eyed the formation for a time, for it felt oddly familiar. He could not be certain that he had ever passed this way before…not while he had been a mortal man, anyway.

                He felt himself drawn towards the rocks, almost subconsciously, so fascinated by their ominous appearance that he for a moment forgot himself. As he drifted closer, close enough now to see what looked like a narrow arch way through the rocks, leading into some unknown shadowy cave, Bill suddenly regained control, turned the wheel sharply and steered away from the looming cliffs. The spell had been broken, at least for the moment.

                High above him the moon was shining still more brightly on the water, casting more shadows below. Bill shuddered. His long servitude upon _The Flying Dutchman_ had provided Bill Turner to a certain sensitivity to magic and things imbued with the supernatural and otherworldly. This place, whatever it was, was definitely that.

                He felt another cold shiver pass through him, a tremble in his fingers despite the humidity in the summer air. Something was stirring in the dark, something foul. Bill turned his rudder, but found that the wind had died and his ship would do little more than drift lazily on the water, which had gone eerily still.

                He found his attention drawn again and again to the rocks, but refused to stare at them, instead hurriedly busying himself with the sails, trying to catch any breath of air he could to pull him away from here. It was as he was tugging at the lines that he noticed movement in the water below the ship, a faint glimmering of something passing just below the surface.

                Bill stopped and stared at it, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But as he leaned closer, a figure broke the surface and clung to the side of the boat. “Help me!” he gasped.

                Bill shouted in surprise, falling backwards onto deck, before collecting himself in a hurry and looking over the side again at the man attempting to climb aboard. “Please! Please, can you throw me a line! Please, I’m so tired!”

                “Alright!” Bill called back, grabbing a rope and tossing it hurriedly over the side, knotting it the stair rail leading up to the helm and bracing himself as he began to tug the man up the side of _The Dying Gull_.

                Once he was within reach, Bill grabbed his arms and tugged him over the side, surprised to find the man starkly naked, and allowed him to sprawl upon the deck.

                “Oh thank you, thank you…” he rasped, seemingly exhausted. Bill pulled off his coat and tossed it over the man’s shoulders to cover him.

                “Bloody hell, man, what are you doing--?” he began, looking the young man over. But it was as he knelt there, close enough to touch the shivering figure, that he sensed what was really going on. His concern changed at once to skeptism, and he reached for the knife concealed in his boot.

                “Who are you?”

                The man, dark haired and dark eyed blinked back at him, as if taken off guard by the question.

                “My name is Theodore Groves. I was knocked overboard—“

                Bill presented the dagger and held it lightly at the man’s throat. “Ah, ah. The truth now, mate.”

                Groves hesitated, falling mute for a moment as he blinked between Bill and the dagger clutched in his hands.

                “Yer not human, that much I can tell,” Bootstrap continued quietly when his unexpected guest gave no immediate answer. He glanced down at the man’s legs, which looked paler than the rest of him, the flesh oddly smooth and slick, almost like it was new. “So what are you?”

                “I don’t mean you any harm,” Groves said softly. “That is the truth.” He looked Bill squarely in the eye as he spoke this, and after a moment of careful consideration, he withdrew the dagger and sat back on his heels, admiring the man before him.

                “Alright then, Theodore Groves. What is it a poor sailor like myself can do for you?”

                Groves gathered himself inside the coat, relaxing slightly. “Forgive my intrusion and my deceptions, sir. I find people are much more apt to be helpful to a drowning man, rather than one who is…and unusually good swimmer, lets say.” Bill nodded slowly and Groves continued, “I’m looking for a ship, and the pirate Captains that command it. Have you heard of Captain Jack Sparrow, or Captain Barbossa by any chance?”

                Bill stiffened and said nothing at all for several seconds, studying Groves’s face with his sad, watery blue eyes. “You seek Jack Sparrow?”

                “Yes. Yes!”

                “And what is your intent upon finding said Captain?”

                “I’ve been searching for the Captains for some time, you see. I was an officer of the royal navy, serving under then Admiral Barbossa on an exposition to the Americas in search of The Fountain of Youth. I became separated from him and Sparrow in the course of a battle, and am desperately trying to find them again. Any information you could give me—“

                Bill held up a hand to quiet him. “Steady man, no need to try to get it all out at once. I too am looking for Jack Sparrow. Last I heard, he was destined for a port north west of the Haitian coast, towards Grand Turk. That’s where I’m heading.”

                Groves looked momentarily elated, as it had been days since his last encounter in St. Martin. It was good to know he was at least headed in the right direction. “But that’s days away, even with fair winds.”

                “Aye, but that’s my course, all the same.”

                “How is it you know Jack Sparrow?” Groves asked then.

                Bill stood up, helping the other man as well, as his legs seemed a bit weak and unsteady upon the deck, a fact that made Groves flush faintly with embarrassment. “Jack’s an old friend of mine. One who owes me a debt.” He answered.

                Groves raised a dark brow. “What sort of debt?”

                “That’s my business, Mr. Groves.” He looked over his shoulder, back towards the rocks, which they had gained a bit more distance from now. But they were still far too close for his liking. “Well, will you continue on with me aboard this old bulkhead, or shall I put you back overboard where I found you?”

                Groves glanced back at the surf below them and shook his head. “I think I will stay aboard, if you’ll have me…sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

                “Bill Turner.” The long-haired man answered, taking the helm again.

                Groves blinked in surprise. “Turner, did you say?”

                “Aye?”

                “I feel as if I’ve heard that name somewhere before…” Groves thought back to days nearly forgotten now, when he was a wide-eyed youth with dreams of glory and honor, following the law to the letter, blissful in his ignorance of the world. My, how much had changed since then…

                Bill paid his words no mind however, focused again on the rocks behind them on their port side. Theodore turned to look at the too, sensing a disturbance there. The moon seemed to be right over the formation then, it’s eerie light gleaming upon the jutting lines of the stones that stretched upwards towards the heavens, casting a red pall upon the water, turning everything vaguely bloody.

                “We need to leave this place,” he whispered, feeling terror grip him. He turned hurriedly towards Bill. “We need to leave!”

                “She’s at a dead stop, the wind has all but died!” Bill barked back. Suddenly, there was a loud _crack_ from behind them. Both men startled, looking at the rocks again to see that the arch way and the upper most cliffs of the stones had begun to crumble, tumbling downward into the sea.

                The two men watched, transfixed by the strange sight as little by little, the cluster of stones dissolved into nothing, vanishing into the ocean and revealing, much to their growing dread, a rather ghostly looking vessel.

                At first it appeared to be more shipwreck than actual ship, but little by little, it began to move, slowly gliding upon the waves, traveling towards them at a speed that should not have been possible.

                Bill reached forward then and clutched Groves’ shoulder. “Get in the water.” He urged.

                Theodore blinked in confusion, but Bill didn’t appear to have misspoken. He looked at the former navy lieutenant with the utmost seriousness. “I know what you are, and you’ll be safer in the water. At least one of us should go on, find Jack.”

                “But I can help—“

                Bill shook his head, shoving him towards the rail, as the ghostly ship was nearly upon them. “Go!”

                Groves abandoned Bootstrap’s coat and dove over the side, vanishing into the water below with barely a ripple. Bill turned and braced himself as the ship approached him, standing far taller and grander than his own limping sloop.

                A gaggle of dark figures gathered along the side, making a great clamor of shouts and jeers, and as they grew closer, Bill saw to his horror that they were not of the living, and that in fact many of the men were only fragments of what they must have been in life. The ashen and blackened shapes stared back at him with white, gleaming eyes, waving cutlasses and broad swords.

                Bootstrap remained rooted to the spot where he stood, hands firmly upon the wheel, knowing there was no escape for him, but finding that he was not overwhelmed by this reality. After enduring a life of torment as he had, unable to die, knowing only want, loneliness and suffering; death had lost some of its power over him.

                Movement on the lower deck finally pulled his gaze away, and he gasped as he saw the same ghostly figures that towered over him suddenly materialize aboard his own vessel. They rushed him, making no sound at all and Bill reached for his sword to defend himself, only to be seized and tossed backward against the deck, where his arms were dragged behind his back and pinned there, blades that seemed to burn with cold hovering from his milky pale skin.

                There came the soft thudding of boot falls, as well as something artificial and heavy, slowly climbing the stairs to the helm. Bill watched as a new figure appeared in the moonlight, this one more terrible and intimidating than those that had seized him.

                He came forward at a limp, in one hand, he clutched a cane, which hammered down upon the deck with a distinct thunk that rung in the air. His figure was hunched, and each movement he made seemed deliberate and calculated. He was broad shouldered, bearing a uniform that Bill did not immediately recognize due to its blackened and ruined nature, yet still distinguished as that of a high ranking officer, perhaps a Captain. A mass of black hair drifted and swayed across the man’s haggard and bowed head, and as he neared, Bill realized that it seemed to be floating as though submerged in water.

                At last the man came to stand before him, lifting his bowed head to look at Bill plainly. And Bootstrap had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out at the sight.

                The man’s face, devoid of pigment save for the cold whiteness of a corpse, appeared… _cracked_. His flesh split and splintered across his face in dozens of jagged lines that raced across his forehead, cheeks and jaw.

                His lips were blackened and cracked, and from them seeped thin trails of thick black blood that dripped down the man’s chin. Bill shuddered and tried to shake free of his captors, but it was no good, he was held firmly in place.

                _“Hola,”_  the apparition before him spoke, his cracked lips opening into a blackened, hideous smile, burning, dark eyes lighting up as he looked Bill over. “Tell me, senor…are you the only man aboard this ship?”

                Bill nodded swiftly. “Aye.”

                “That makes you _Captain_ , I suppose.” The man before him chuckled softly, and the men gathered around him joined in kind. “Well then. One captain to another, shall we speak? You see, it has been some time since my men and I were out upon the open ocean and we could use some _assistance_.” He grinned again, and the blood continued to dribble from his lips.

                Bill winced mildly in disgust. “Not sure what help I could be to you, Captain. You and your crew…appear far beyond any of help.”

                “Ah, but you assume too quickly. Tell me, my good man…do pirates still infest these waters?”

                Bill tensed, but kept his expression cold. “Pirates have always been.”

                “Ah, indeed. A fact I mean to remedy. Beginning with the architect of my misery. Do you know of a pirate whom calls himself… _Sparrow?_ ” His eyes grew wide and bright upon saying that name, seeming to savor the taste of it on his tongue and at the same time spitting it out as if it were vile poison.

                This time, Bill’s expression betrayed him, even if it was only the most subtle of changes. The specter before him had seen the way his pupils had shrunk, had sensed the tension in his muscles, the soft exhale and the skipped beat of his heart.

                “Ahh…” he sighed, face continuing to distort with hellish delight. “You have heard the name before then, si?”

                Bill nodded slowly, knowing there was no use in denying it now.

                “Will you deliver a message for me?” the captain before him asked, looking maniacal in his eagerness for Bill’s response. Ice filled Bill’s guts, and he remembered what fear was, what dread was. Not since Davy Jones himself had he felt these things, but looking at the ghost before him now, he saw madness, he saw doom, illuminated under the bright bloody moonlight, reflected back at him with those burning, dead eyes.

                The ghost leaned close then, clasping Bill’s shoulder with one icy hand, fingers digging into his flesh and taking hold before speaking softly in the shell of his ear. “Tell him that Captain Salazar is coming for him.” He laughed softly and Bill felt more the thick, black blood drip upon his shoulder, splattering upon his neck above his collar.  “Will you do this for me?”

                Bill nodded mutely, cold sweat beading his face.

                “Good, good. Gracias…”

                The figures holding him vanished abruptly then and Bill stumbled, finding his knees weak and dropped to the deck, gasping and shaking as Salazar and his crew returned to their ship, leaving his in their wake.

                “Jack…oh Jack, what have you done this time?”

                It was a long time before Bill could move again, but what brought him from his stupor was the feel of warm, if not damp hands upon his shoulder, gently replacing his coat. He whirled and turned to see that Groves had returned to his side, looking at him with harrowed features in the now fading moonlight.

                “Can you take us to port, Mr. Turner?” he asked.

                Bill nodded, slowly regaining his wits. “Aye. As quickly as we can muster.”

                He got to his feet and reached for the wheel, relieved to see that the breeze had returned and was already carrying them further away from the cursed spot upon the ocean.

                For a time, neither of them spoke, until Bill moved from his place at the helm, and darted into the cabin below and returned with a bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on. Can’t be standing about in naught but your skin.”

                Groves nodded gratefully and began to nervously dress himself. “Who was that creature?”

                Bill’s face was a cold mask. “An old enemy of all who sail under a pirate flag. Jack told me about him once. There was a time when he was the single greatest threat to the Brethren upon the ocean…but he was killed in a battle with them. Jack was there, he helped orchestrate it.”

                “Apparently not well enough.” Groves muttered. He was beginning to see a disturbing pattern attached to his almost-lover; that the man had left a trail of vengeful enemies in his wake, all whom would seemingly do anything to exact revenge upon the brash pirate. Even defy death, apparently.

 

***

 

                Miles away, in much calmer waters…

 

                Hector stood before a collapsed wall of stone, from which water poured down, slowly filling the tide pool he was standing in. He dug at the rocks, fingers bloody with the effort, flinging them away again and again and again, only to have more and more reappear. He could never reach the other side, and all the while the water continued to pour, rising higher and higher around him. But he didn’t give up, he didn’t stop even though he was aware it was useless.

                A voice from the other side of the wall begged him for help, wept and screamed for Hector to save him. Barbossa kept shouting back that he would, he would get Groves out of that dark tomb if it was the last thing he did. But he couldn’t. His hands were bloody and his arms and back throbbed. The water was getting higher and higher until it had finally reached his neck. Still, he didn’t stop. He screamed and pounded against the caved in wall, shouting his lost lover’s name over and over, until water filled his nose and his mouth and submerged him completely.

                _“Theodore! **Theodore!** ”_

               

                The name was still on his lips as he came awake, trembling and slick with sweat. He sat up in the bed, peering around at the dark room, where the only light was that of the rising dawn outside, which was still cold and pale through the window panes.

                There was no sound save for his own heavy breathing and the distant roar of the ocean as it crashed against the rocks outside beyond the cliffs. Barbossa scrubbed his hand across his face, finding it wet with tears and cursed softly as he kicked the blankets off himself and reached for the crutch by his bed.

                Jack was not in the room, and Hector wondered how long his lover had been missing. He hobbled to the bedroom door of the old house he, Sparrow and the young cabin boy Shandy had occupied for months now stepped out into the tall, narrow well that contained the creaking steps that lead up to the higher loft of the old stone lighthouse they occupied.

There were two small windows that let a meager amount of light into the otherwise black corridor, and Hector could see that Shandy’s door was cracked, but that there was no sound or movement from beyond it. The lad was no doubt still asleep. Satisfied with this, he moved through the cloistered stairwell into the main room of the house. It appeared wider and empty in the dark with little furnishings, save for a table, a few chairs, heavy chest that was pressed against the wall behind the front door, and several other trappings. He expected to find Sparrow seated near the stone fireplace, passed out with a bottle of rum or toying with the cursed bottle containing his ship, as Hector often found him on sleepless nights.

                But Jack wasn’t here either, and the fireplace had gone out a long time ago, leaving the hearth cold and full of ash. Barbossa moved through the silent, empty house towards it, took the heavy cast-iron tea kettle off the hook over the hearth and poured himself some water from it, knowing it could be cold and clean.

                His fingers were still shaking faintly as he held his cup, and he was grateful Jack wasn’t there to see it. Too often in these last long months since their adventure, Jack had to witness his night terrors and comfort him in the dark. His lover had done all this without complaint of course, for Jack loved him deeply, but Barbossa knew it weighed on him. He swallowed hard, tasting not water, but guilt at the back of his throat. He had Jack, his real and truest love at his side again. He was grateful beyond measure for this, and yet it did not slake his grief. He had loved Theodore Groves, as much if not differently than Sparrow, and his loss had left a terrible heaviness in his chest.

                He looked out the window then at the horizon, seeing the sun slowly appearing over water beyond turning the black-grey sky faintly blue and pink. Upon the wide swath of green grass that stretched out from the old hovel, Hector spotted Jack, walking up the rocky path from the beach below. The man was singing to himself, and as Barbossa watched him, he noticed the familiar uneasy sway of his feet as walked.

                A few moments later the man crept into the door, hissing at the squeaky hinges for making so much noise as he entered.

                “Jack,” Hector sighed, startling the dark haired man and making him whirl to see his lover sitting there by the hearth. “No use in slinkin’ about, luv. You’ve been discovered.”

                “Ah, so I have,” Jack replied, stumbling towards the table, looking faintly sheepish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d take the sloop and nip over to port for a drink or two.”

                “Plenty of rum in the cellar,” Hector answered.

                “Yes, well…I didn’t want to wake you and the boy. Besides, Gibbs had an interesting proposition for us. Or so he claimed; turned out to be a waste of time, but a good use of drink.” He quipped, then stepped a little closer to Hector, looking at the deep circles under his eyes and the paleness in his skin. “Though it doesn’t appear I need’ve worried about waking you.” He stepped next to him, tilted Hector’s head back and threaded his ringed and bejeweled fingers through his hair. “Dreaming about him again, darlin?”

                Barbossa just sighed and let his head fall against Jack’s torso, smelling the fresh air and salt water on his skin and clothes. “I wish I could put it from my mind. Alas, I’m at a loss.”

                Jack knelt in front of him so that they were eye to eye and leaned in to kiss him. This was not the first time he’d found Hector this way, weary and distraught from a nightmare about their last moments in the caves where Groves had met his untimely end trying to defend them from the treacheries of Blackbeard. The night haunted Jack too, but it was Hector who seemed to bear the brunt of the suffering.

                “I’m sorry, m’luv. Ye must think me ungrateful, pining for what I’ve lost when I have ye right here in front of me.”

                Jack gave him a sympathetic smile but didn’t answer. “You have to let him go, luv. Groves died an honorable death, and I can’t imagine he’d be pleased to know that the stalwart Captain Barbossa had withered away to nothing over his loss. We owe it to him to continue on, don’t we?”

                “Aye. You’re right of course.”

                “Aren’t I always?” Jack grinned.

                “Don’t push it, Sparrow.”

                Seeing a shadow of his former smirk reassured Jack that however much Hector was struggling that he would come out the other side of this darkness as he always had. Jack felt his heart swell with admiration for the man then; there were few people in the world that could inspire such strength and courage than his very own Hector.

                “Let’s take you back to bed,” he offered, standing and pulling the taller man up as well, but as Hector stood, Jack swayed and the two tangled themselves together to keep from falling, each laughing faintly at the other’s clumsiness.

                “Still haven’t gotten yer land legs? Or did ye drink the tavern dry again?”

                “Only half dry,” Jack offered with a giggle of his own. “I had Gibbs with me, remember?”

                Arms slung around each other, they made their way back to their bedroom at the foot of the stairs. Barbossa helped Jack shrug out of his clothes and pulled him down into bed with him, the cinnamon skinned and heavily tattooed man lying on top of him, leaning over to leave a trail of rum stained kisses on the paler man’s neck. “Since it seems neither of us can sleep, what say we make better use of our time?” he purred.

                The other pirate only chuckled as Jack twisted the chain of his pendant around his fingers and pulled him up for another kiss, Hector reaching down to pull the man flush against him. “That be a tempting offer, I admit,” he replied. “’Cept yer very, very drunk. I wouldn’t want to think I was takin’ advantage of ye.”

                “Hush will you? Busy those lips elsewhere.”

                Hector’s eyes suddenly brightened and he sat up, pulling himself up against the headboard. Jack blinked at him, confused by the sudden change in position that left him wanting for contact. But the redhead beckoned him forward and pulled Jack over him again, forcing the man to straddle him. He kissed his way down Sparrow’s chest and stomach, pulling open the buttons of his pants and pulling the man more upward so that his hips were flush with Hector’s face. “Will this do?” he grinned before pulling the man closer and licking him teasingly.

                Jack shuddered, gripping the headboard. “Oh yes, luv…like that. Ah!”

                Things grew quiet between them for time, the only sounds in the small room being the faint sighs and muttered oaths from Sparrow as Hector lost himself in pleasuring him, happy for the distraction.

                Jack’s darkly tan skin was flushed dark pink as Hector brought him achingly close to orgasm at a slow and steady pace that was almost too good for the pirate to handle. But Hector always did know how to completely undo him.

                “Mmmmh! H-Hector please…”

                Barbossa sucked him hard, swirling his tongue over the head of his cock before pulling back and gazing up at the man with a mischievous smile, “What was that Sparrow?” he cooed. “Something ye wanted?”

                Jack tried to nudge the man’s head back down but Hector resisted, nipping at his hipbone instead while feeling the tension in Jack’s thighs as he hovered on the edge of release. Jack whimpered pitifully.

                “Ah, you old bastard! Don’t tease me like—“

                “Captain Jack?”

                Both men stopped dead at the sound of a third voice in the room, and Barbossa reflexively grabbed Jack’s hips and yanked him forward, hoisting up his pants and pressing his face against Jack’s belly as Sparrow whipped his head around, thick braids and dreads flying as he looked over his shoulder at Shandy the cabin boy standing in the doorway, looking rather sleepy and vaguely confused.

                “Bloody fuck, lad! It’s courtesy to at least _knock_ before you stroll in on a man when he’s… _sleepin’!_ ”

                The young man, who was now roughly fourteen, blinked tiredly between the two men. “But you aren’t sleepin’. And I’m sorry to disturb your, um… _romancing_ with Captain Barbossa, but it’s getting light out now and I was up in the tower just now and saw the ships coming into the cay. Thought you ought to know.”

                “Aye, the ships,” Hector sighed, sitting Jack back and letting him cover himself with the blanket, ignoring his silent protest as he reached for his crutch again. “It was good of you to alert us, lad, but lest you want to see something that can’t rightly be unseen next time, _knock._ ”

                “Aye, sirs.” He smirked a bit to himself and slipped out the door again, shutting it behind him once more.

                “That boy concerns me.” Hector sighed.

                Jack wrapped his arms around him from behind and tried to pull him back into the bed, “I’ll have a talk with him, but with influences like Scrum and the others around, the damage has been done. Now…come back to bed.”

                Hector kissed his cheek and lifted himself from the mattress instead. “Sorry, Jack. When the ships arrive, ye know I must attend them. Or else they might think that their captain has lost interest, and that can lead to a host of dangerous things.”

                “Come on, luv, just another minute, I’m nearly—“

                The other man turned and pressed him down into the bed, kissing him until he was breathless, but didn’t touch him otherwise. Jack moaned as his lover pulled away, running his finger over his swollen lower lip. “Think about me while you finish.”

                He grabbed his coat off the hook and smirked to himself as he hobbled out the door, leaving Sparrow tense and aching on the bed, left with no recourse but to finish himself off. “Dammit Hector,” he moaned against the man’s pillow, wrapping his own hand around his cock. But truth be told the whole thing sent a renewed thrill through him, reminded that whatever their troubles, the spark was far from gone.

 

**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sorry for slow updates guys, my depression has been acting up again but I'm doing my best.

 

 

**

               

                The lighthouse which they now occupied stood upon a small island, one of many that dotted the coastline off the mainland port. It was here, among the winding channels between the rocky pieces of land that Barbossa and Sparrow had created a safe port for the many ships who now sailed under Barbossa’s colors. There were ten in all, varying in all sizes, hailing from all parts of the world, and each of their captains’ was clever and ruthless.

                Beckett had once said that the world around them was shrinking. In a sense this was very true. Though the pirates had managed to survive being utterly wiped out by the ruthless tactics of Beckett and his ilk, the power of the British and Spanish Empires were only expanding, their grasp growing more covetous each day as they sought to conquer every inch of the blue empire that surrounded them.

                To Barbossa it was painfully obvious that the Brethren and their kind could no longer afford the constant in-fighting they had endured for a decade or more. It would only be by standing together that they could survive the prowling naval vessels that roamed their waters, and the treachery of so called ‘pirate-hunters’ who chased them down and brought them to hang, all while lining their own pockets.

                Two of the fleet had returned, their holds bursting with plunder from their latest acquisition. The captain’s and their crew were given generous amounts for their service—indeed, the secret to keep any good sailor worth his salt was to pay him well—and the rest went to Barbossa and Jack, who were building a rather large cache hidden within the secret caves and coves throughout the small islands.

                Captaining a ship came easily to Hector, command suited him and his crew both feared and loved him, as did those of the other ships who served him. But while captaining one ship came naturally, governing nearly a dozen was a bit more taxing. But Hector managed, of course. He always managed. But he couldn’t have done it without Jack. Sparrow’s charm and renown brought eager pirates in by the droves, and it was their hunger for a chance at glory and adventure that inspired them to stay on. After all, to sail with Jack Sparrow was to become the stuff of legends.

                Looking down at the ships as they drew into the secret docks along the lower ridges of the cliffs, Barbossa felt an old pang of nostalgia, tinged with regrets. If he hadn’t been such a fool all those years ago, he and Jack could have had all of this much, much sooner. So many wasted years. So many mistakes.

                In this brief moment of gloom, Hector found himself suddenly and starkly remembering his encounter with Bill Turner, not but a few months ago. He could still hear the man’s harsh breathing in his ear, feel the weight of him against his back.

                Hector wrapped his hand around the bronze and ruby pendant that hung upon his chest, something to ground himself as he forced himself back to reality. He tried again and again to put that night from his mind, but it kept coming back. And it was not even that Hector felt particularly pained about the abuse he’d suffered—he’d survived much worse—but rather a nagging fear that Bill would try to make good on his threat.

                But he shook this thought from his mind. This was paranoia and grief, an aging mind’s fears trying to get the better of him. Bill had surprised him once, and that would be the only chance he would get. No one was going to take Jack from him, anyone who dared would find themselves on the other end of his sword.

                Yet despite this, he hadn’t told Jack about what had transpired that night. He wasn’t sure why. It certainly wasn’t out of a need to preserve Jack’s perception of Bill as a good and decent man. Maybe it was embarrassment at having been taken advantage of by sneaky ol’ Bill Turner and his whelp that truly vexed him and made him keep his silence. Maybe he was protecting Jack. Sparrow had been through so much after the ordeal with Blackbeard, and though many wouldn’t have noticed, Hector saw how it weighed on him. How it had taken some of that gleam from his smile, how he slept with one eye open some nights and drank himself into oblivion others. Jack was already shouldering so much, and dealing with Hector’s grief as well…this felt like a pain he could bare in silence.

                He made his way down from the rocky paths that lead down from the green hill tops to the dark grey crags of rock below where the docks were.

                “Ahoy, Captain!”

                “Aye, welcome back to shore lads!” Barbossa called as the men disembarked, the captains and their mates and bosuns moving to speak with him directly. “A fine day isn’t it?” he asked, glancing aboard the deck of the smaller lugger that was heavy with trunks of Spanish coins and what appeared to be antique paintings and furnishing fitting of a castle.

                “Fine indeed, Captain! Fine indeed!” the nearest captain, a Scotsman named O’Kelly chortled, hands on his hips, the brim of his wide hat fluttering in the breeze, threatening to unseat itself from his head.

                “Had you any trouble along the way?”

                “Not much, sir,” the other captain replied, this one another Englishman called Old Tom by most. “We were spotted by several of the Queen’s ships, but they didn’t engage with us. Stormy seas and a fear of the narrow passages kept them at bay, but only just. Although I must report that _The Hurricane_ took some damage along the shoals—she’s in port at Cuba for repairs.”

                Hector nodded in understanding. “We’ll get word to them soon, make arrangements for repairs. But chiefly I want their cargo divided and sent in separate directions—if you were spotted, they’ll be looking for an opportunity to capture the ship, I won’t take the chance.”

                “Aye, sir.”

                The wind kicked up and made them all wince against it, some clutching their hats and others trying to keep salt and dirt from flying in their face.

                “Storm’s blowing in from the west!” O’Kelly shouted over the noise. “Lay you odds that it’s them siren’s doing?”

                “What?”

                “The sirens, sir! Mermaids, spotted in several areas between St. Martin’s and Tortuga. All sorts of stories have been pouring from in, have you not heard?”

                Hector turned his head and gazed back out at the ocean, watching the foam on the waves for a time, that same nagging feeling rising in his chest again. “Mermaids, you say?”

 

**

 

                Predictably, it hadn’t taken Jack long to finish, and afterwards he had fallen into an unexpected yet rather heavy sleep for a few hours. When he woke again, it was to the sound of wind violently rattling the shudders.

                He frowned grumpily and dragged himself from the bed, which felt like far too much of an effort, and made his way over to the window and pulled the flapping pieces of wood shut hard and latched them tightly. They still rattled, but more quietly now. In doing so, he caught a glimpse of the fast moving clouds over the ocean, and the way the waves churned and rolled as the tide came in.

                Hector was no doubt down at the docks, dealing with the crews and taking inventory, laying out their next course of action and hearing what news the captains’ had of the world beyond their cloistered cove.

                Jack missed that world.

                He knew that the lighthouse was necessary, the cove was necessary, The Revenge was necessary; all of it was. But that didn’t make it feel like home. He was happy with Hector, yes. Happier than he honestly felt he deserved. And after the events of Whitecap Bay, he had _needed_ a safe haven. Someplace to rest, someplace to gather himself again. But it was supposed to be temporary. It was supposed to have lasted days…not weeks…not months…nearly a year now. This wasn’t the plan.

                The plan had been to find a way to release the Pearl, restore her to her glory and set out on a new adventure, the pair of them and their faithful crew of usual suspects, Marty, Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Cotton, Pintel and Ragetti of course—once they too had been freed from the bottle. It all seemed so perfect, so easy and simple in his head.

                But it was far from the reality of things.

                Jack redressed himself, washed his face and hands and moved from the bedroom into the main room of the house. Shandy was not in view, yet he was sure the boy was ambling around somewhere. Like Jack, he was never ever to stay still very long.

                Sparrow winced at the howling of the wind through the cracks in the old stone and wood walls and heard the unanimous shudder of the windows in the wind, though they were all latched tight, save for the largest which overlooked the broad cliff and the road that lead down to the beach below.

                He plucked an apple from the bowl on the table and took a large bite from it, plopping himself down in his usual chair by the hearth, and reached for a box that was perched there at the fire’s edge, kept under heavy lock and key. Inside, was the cursed bottle containing his ship. Gingerly, he lifted it from the little velvet pillow it had been placed on and rose it up to eye level with both hands, careful not to tip it.

                There she was, _The Black Pearl_ , sailing on a bewitched tide inside the tiny unfathomable universe contained within the glass. Jack looked at her longingly, aching for the feel of the deck beneath his feet and smoothness of the wheel in his palm. He belonged on that ship, as sure as he belonged anywhere in this world. It was his one and true home and without her, he felt like a half a man. With great care, he set the bottle down on the table and admired her a little longer, continuing to eat his breakfast as he gazed at her and listened to the wind howling outside.

                He had tried everything to free The Pearl from her latest curse. Well…everything within _reason_. Perhaps stretching just a bit beyond. It was magic he was dealing with after all. But nothing had worked, and on two separate occasions, he had nearly lost her all together. Blackbeard’s magic was the most powerful Jack had come against, aside perhaps from Jones’. But even ol’ Jonesy had left himself wiggle room, loop holes that Jack could navigate, rules that could be bent to his favor. But not Blackbeard’s magic; for it was a far darker breed.

                Tia Dalma could have perhaps assisted him in freeing the ship…if she had not regained her goddess form, transformed into a bunch of crabs and fled into the sea from whence she came. It was too bad really; Jack had always liked her, and she had never been anything but kind to him, even if she had always taken more of a shine to Barbossa. Regardless, he doubted any help would come from her now.

                It was the Sword of Triton that had put the Pearl in this state, and Blackbeard’s readiness to sacrifice his soul to gain the power to wield it. But they had returned that to the mermaids of Whitecap Bay, who were the guardians of it. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but now Jack cursed himself for not thinking it through more thoroughly.

                An idea was stirring in him then. Mermaids were difficult to find, yes, and treacherous for those who did not know how to handle themselves around them. Which of course, was not a problem for Jack. He’d known the creatures intimately since he was a small boy on his father’s ship. If anyone could find mermaids; it was Jack Sparrow.

                His eyes brightened, spirits lifted again. He needed to negotiate with the mermaids, see if he couldn’t find the location of the Sword once more. He was just going to borrow it, after all, what could be the harm in that?

                Jack discarded the remains of his apple in the fire, lifted the bottle in his hands and gazed longingly at his ship again. “Never fear my darling. Soon, we’ll be together again.”

                “Are you talking to the bottle again?” Shandy asked, appearing from around the doorway, where he must have been lurking for several minutes. Jack startled faintly and then turned and looked at the youth with a deadpan expression. “Interrupting me with both of my lovers in one night, young Chandegnac. That is indeed bold, and dangerous of you.”

                Shandy gave a little snort of laughter into his sleeve and then did his best to look straight faced. “My apologizes, Captain Sparrow. Won’t happen again sir, I promise. Carry on.”

                Jack tucked the bottle away and rose from his seat, moving towards the boy. “I would have figured you would be down at the docks. Good chance to see the ships, visit with the crew, claim a few choice pieces of plunder for yourselves before they’re gone.”

                “I know,” Shandy nodded, and Jack noticed he seemed somewhat reserved. “I’ve just been watching the horizon, that’s all. This storm rolled in so suddenly, feels unnatural.” He rubbed his arms as if he had a chill and stared at the rattling shutters again.

                “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to go out in this squall. But I’m sure it’ll pass soon enough.” He moved about, lighting lanterns and candles to help illuminate the otherwise dark and dreary room, and found that Shandy followed at his heels, seemingly uncomfortable with being on his own. Above them, rain thundered down on the roof, the only sound heavy enough to drown out the howl of the wind for a bit.

                Jack felt a faint, nervous twinge in his stomach at the thought of Hector down at the docks in his mess, but his attention was turned back to Shandy, when the boy yelped after having accidentally burned himself on a match.

                Sparrow took the opportunity to take his hand and examine the burnt finger tips, which would blister surely but would heal fine. He dunked a cloth in cold water and held it to the offended skin. “Yer head seems elsewhere today,” he said in a casual but measured tone. “Why, I wonder.”

                Shandy frowned, looking embarrassed. “It’s nothing, sir.”

                “Nothing has a funny way of being something an awful lot of the time.” The older man answered. “Ye’ve nothing to fear from telling me the truth. A captain needs honesty from his crew, always. First law of sailing.”

                “I thought you said first law of sailing was not to spit in the wind.”

                “Nevermind what I said, listen to what I’m saying.” Jack muttered, waving the comment off.

                The young man sighed, “It’s just…been hearing a lot of strange things from the other sailors lately. Weird goings on out there, on the water. Ships being torn to pieces, all but one of the crew murdered and usually that one gone mad…I know it’s probably just tales, but I can’t help but think of him.”

                Jack knew Shandy was referring to Teach, and his face became a bit more grim. “Now, you listen to me, lad. That bastard is gone from this world, ne’re to return. He can’t trouble you no more, son. Nor any of us. You believe ol’ Jack now, don’t ya?”

                He nodded slowly, remaining tight lipped. After a moment he asked, “Do you still think about him sometimes, sir?”

                “No, never.” Jack lied, casting about for a drink that was a bit heavier than water.

                “I know Captain Barbossa does,” Shandy said, his voice barely above a whisper, staring at his burned hand, face oddly pale. “I’ve heard him crying out at night. I’ve heard him scream.” He fixed Jack with a piercing look. “I’ve heard you scream too.”

                The boy was sending nasty chills up his spine. “You been talkin’ to that sea witch what lives down in the cave again?” he asked, attempting to avoid the subject.

                “No, captain. Last time I tried to go down there without permission she said she’d eat my toes.”

                “She probably would.” Jack nodded, not particularly moved by this. He still couldn’t quite figure out what it was Hector thought he was gaining out of bringing that sea witch back with him, but then again he was not apt to press the subject either. Jack knew a real weaver of magic when he stumbled upon one, and Shansa was that and more. He looked back at Shandy again, having had no luck in finding any stores of rum in the immediate vicinity—which he now recalled was his reason for last night’s visit to port—and saw that the lad looked no better for his assurances.

                He sighed heavily, “It’s funny how sometimes you can build something up in your mind to be far more frightening than perhaps it really is. Blackbeard’s gone, we’ve nothing to fear from a corpse. It’s the memories that visit us in the night that frighten us. But that’s all they are, Shandy. Memories.”

                “I suppose you’re right,” he nodded, at last managing a smile.

                Jack seemed pleased with this and clapped him lightly on the back. “There’s a good lad. Now, tell me, you aren’t hiding any rum up there are you?”

                The youth rolled his eyes. “No sir.  You checked yesterday.”

                “Aye, that I did.”

                Eventually he wandered off to finish whatever chores he could around the house and to keep himself busy, returning upstairs to make sure the lamp in the great light tower was still burning bright, so that any ships on the horizon could still see the light through the fog and the grey sheets of water coming down on them.

                Jack meanwhile, impatiently watched the rain, waiting for it let up and for Hector to return, thinking of his plan about the mermaids and the sword. As he paced restlessly he felt a faint irritation upon his chest, which caused him to scratch at it absently as he moved. His attention was now devoured wholly in his new endeavor, looking over maps of the surrounding waters and plotting where he might be most likely to find mermaid waters.

The wood on the fire cracked loudly as the log broke into two, spitting embers from the deep stone hearth and startling Jack further as he paused to look back at it. Staring into the flames for a moment, an uneasy, fearful feeling crept slowly into the back of his mind. It was just as surely as if someone was breathing cold breath on the back of his neck.

Irritated, Jack shook his head and pushed the uneasy feelings from his mind and went back to his work.  A short time later and with great effort, Barbossa managed to wrestle his way through the heavy wooden door into the house again, drenched to the bone despite his hat and coat.

                “Well,” he sputtered as Sparrow moved to help him, “she’s in a mood about somethin’ today. Lucky the ships made it here ahead of that mess.” He was speaking of course of Calypso, the sea goddess herself. Jack helped him shrug out of his sopping coat, hanging it by the hearth and lent himself as a human crutch to help support his lover as he moved, since he was leaving puddles of water behind him as he walked and his crutch could easily slip.

                “Summers storms, luv, they come and go as they please, don’t worry much about it.” Jack said brightly, pressing a kiss to Hector’s forehead and pushing his sopping wet hair out of his face. Barbossa smirked and swatted him away. “Well, you’re certainly in a cheery mood.” Sparrow brought him a blanket to dry himself with and he tucked it around his shoulders gratefully.

                “Ah, but not as cheery as I _could_ be,” Jack smirked. “You owe me for this morning.”

                “Of course.”

                It was then that Barbossa noticed the maps on the table. “Something spark your interest?”

                Jack grinned excitedly and Hector saw that old fire in his eyes, the kind of manic pleasure that always arose in those bright brown orbs whenever Jack had some new scheme. “I think I finally found the answer to our little quandary, as it were.”

                Hector’s eyes went immediately for the chest that contained The Pearl. “Have ye now?”

                “It’s quite funny now that I think of it actually; should have been obvious from the start! After all, how did the ship get into the bottle in the first place?”

                “Ye plan on takin’ up the dark arts, that it?”

                “Not nearly so complicated,” Jack waved his hands, refusing to let Hector’s more serious and practical demeanor dim his excitement. “Blackbeard used The Sword of Triton to cast the spell wot shrunk her. So, it’s logical then that the same sword should be able to set her free!”

                Barbossa thought for a moment, “Aye, but we returned the sword in exchange for safe passage, Jack. Who knows where it is now.”

                “Mermaids will know.”

                Hector blinked at him in some surprise then. Wasn’t often he heard talk like this twice in one day. “I suppose…funny ye should mention it. O’Kelly said there’s been sightings recently, but who’s to say if any of those tales are true.”

                “Oh darlin’, you know well as I the stories are more often true than not.” Sparrow replied and his smiled widened further, “But sightings! That does save the work for me, I wonder if he recalls where exactly?”

                “So ye mean to set out to catch one of the lasses, eh? I don’t know, Jack.”

                “Oh don’t be such an old sod about it! What have the likes of you and I to fear from the ladies of the deep? Are we not, as they have said before, ever in their favor? And I hardly doubt any of Neptune’s daughters would be willing to sink her fangs into _you_ , not after Calypso has marked you as hers, so to speak.” The itch on his skin was growing more insatiable and he continued to scratch at it in annoyance.

                Hector frowned, still seemingly uncomfortable with the idea, but finally relented with a sigh. “Well, I suppose no other leads you’ve had have gone anywhere. What other recourse is there?” It was then that he noticed Jack’s nervous fingers digging at his skin and he raised a brow. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

                Jack finally pulled off his shirt, looking at the offending area, half expecting to see that he’d been bitten by something. Instead he saw red welts appearing in a familiar place over his heart, in a telling shape. Jack had blood under his fingernails from the scratching, and as he looked down he realized that the wounds were growing, opening slowly, starting to seep blood as if he were being cut by some invisible knife.

                Hector was up in a second, knocking over his chair as he grabbed hold of Jack, who had gone pale and wide eyed as the shape of the triton that Blackbeard had once carved into his flesh, reappeared. The pair stared at the wound in the firelight, hearts racing, barely a breath between them in their shock. “Wh-what is this?” Jack rasped slowly, trembling as Hector supported him. “Am I dreaming? Is this another nightmare?”

                Hector shook his head slowly, and pulled out another chair and eased Jack into it. Outside the rain continued, followed by thunder and faint flashes of lightning as the heaviest part of the storm passed over their heads. He felt cold looking at the wounds on Jack’s flesh, remembering the first time he had seen this mark on him, back in the wreckage of Ponce de Leon’s ship. But the water from the fountain had cured Jack of these scars…their return was something terrifying and unnatural.

                “Steady now,” he cooed, knowing he had to keep himself collected, lest his own panic push Jack over the edge. “Does it hurt?”

                “Yes,”

                They heard Shandy’s footsteps and Jack tried to cover the bleeding wound, but the boy had already seen them and stopped short. “Put yer eyes back in yer head and go fetch Shansa,” Hector snapped at him. “Quickly now!”

                The sharpness of his tone brought the younger pirate out of his daze and sent him rushing towards the door, only to have it open before he could reach the handle, and the woman in question step through its threshold, rain water dripping off her tattooed skin. All three men stared at her for a moment, but she ignored their shock and moved steadily towards Jack, the trails of her tattered cloak slinking behind her across the wooden floor, leaving a trail of water in her tracks.

                “How did ye—“ Hector began, then shook his head, standing back so that she could move closer to Sparrow. “Nevermind. What can ye do for ‘im?”

                The woman knelt down in front of Sparrow, who was pale and clammy and clinging to his composure as she moved the folds of his shirt and vest aside to have a better look at the wound. It did not bode well that her eyes widened as she traced the shape with her fingertip. “An ill omen indeed. A mark of warning,”

                “Warning of what?” Hector snapped, growing increasingly agitated in his efforts to remain calm. The woman ignored him though and looked to Sparrow.

                “You have made many enemies in your life, Jack Sparrow. Your actions have altered the course of many lives. Not always for the better.” She turned her gaze to Shandy, who froze for a moment. “Bandages.”

                He stumbled to complete her request, vanishing into another of the rooms of the old house to look for something clean that could be torn into strips to make a binding. “Anger is a powerful and devastating emotion is left unchecked. It attracts dark forces in the world, gives rise to its own sort of magic. Revenge is what leaves this mark on your flesh. Someone in this world wishes you great harm.”

                The two pirates locked eyes briefly over the woman between them, and Jack managed a thin smile, “It may surprise you to learn, luv, that it doesn’t really narrow it down…”

                Shandy returned with fresh strips of what must have been a pillow case and handed them to the witch, who began to jostle around beneath her tattered robe, finding small vials that hung from thin cords attached to her waist. From here she produced something black and soot-like and rubbed it into Jack’s bleeding skin. Sparrow howled at the sharp sting of it and gripped the table, Barbossa closing his hand over his in reassurance.

                “A bit of warning would have been nice,” he muttered.

                She ignored him and once she had covered the wound entirely she began to bind it with the cloth, and Jack felt almost instant relief and nodded to her gratefully. “The mark will fade once more, by morning I expect. It was a mark made by dark magic, and only under such same ill influence does it have hold on you. As long as you stay clear of whatever soul wishes you harm, you will be safe.”

                “And how would one do that, perchance?” he asked, rubbing the sore spot on his chest. “Especially considering that it could be any number of souls what wish me harm. Though, I can’t imagine why anyone would—“

                Hector rolled his eyes and looked to the sea witch again. “Any way to uncover the source of this ill-will, m’lady?”

                She seemed to think for a moment, listening to the wind and the rain as it groaned and shrieked outside, her eyes eventually turning towards the fire. “Consider your deeds long and hard, my little sparrow. Reflecting upon your past will give you the answer.”

                She toyed with a long lock of his hair before leaning forward and placing a kiss on his head, simultaneously pulling out several strands of his thick hair, along with one of the trinkets braided within, this a thin red thread. “Ow! What was that for?” he gasped.

                “Payment.” She grinned and took her leave of them, disappearing back out into the gale without a thought to the rain. For a long moment afterwards, no one said anything and the three men stood in the heavy silence that now filled the lighthouse, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the drumming of rain.

                Shandy stood at the head of the table, still looking pale and sick, gripping the chair with white knuckles. Hector thought for certain the boy might keel over and faint any second. Never had he seen him look so frightened. “Blackbeard…” the boy whispered finally, looking to Jack.

                “Teach is dead,” Barbossa quipped sharply and firmly, glancing between the youth and his lover. “The Fountain took his flesh and the rest he sold off long ago. There is no coming back from where Edward Teach has gone. I’ll hear no more of his name.”

                Jack nodded in agreement. Despite the wound having been inflicted by Teach’s magic, Jack did not feel that it came from the same source. How exactly he knew this he couldn’t describe. Teach had made a dark connection with him through his powers, and he remembered that feeling all too clearly even all this time later. This was not the same.

                “You’d do well to listen to him, lad. There’s nothing to fear from that old ghost here.” He stood, feeling his strength recovered, already willing away the incident as if it were nothing more than a bad dream.

                The cabin boy nodded, his long blonde hair swaying faintly behind him, doing his best to save face in front of his mentors. “Aye, sirs. I know you’re right. Dead things…they don’t come back, do they? Not really.”

                Jack and Hector shared another long glance with each other before Jack nodded again. “No lad. Dead things don’t come back.”

 

                The rain had already begun to ease by the time the sea witch returned to her private dwelling upon the beach. As it had been since her rescue, she mingled with the other pirates and visited them at her leisure, but rarely did she share their dwellings. She needed her privacy, and a space that was untainted by mortal men to practice her craft and commune with the ocean and the tides. Being too close to civilization too often made it difficult to communicate with the world around her and often drained her of her energies.

                She had carved out such a place in the small caverns created by the weathered rocks in the cliff side along the beach, where the tide pools were plentiful, but she was safe from the engulfing tide. Beyond the door that was covered with tattered sails, swaths of ruined netting and dangling strings of shells and coral, lay a wide circular alcove filled with candles, stones and shells, drift wood and bottled oddities, placed in various alters and circles around the space.

                It would have been enough to drive off any superstitious sailor who wandered into her dwelling, but to her it brought her peace and clarity. She discarded her wet cloak as she stood inside, letting it fall onto the cool stone floor, and shed herself of her other soaking garments, hanging them near the small fire that was contained inside a shallow hole in the earth just below several broken openings in the rock face that shielded her.

                Seating herself naked on the floor, she continued to ponder what she had witnessed inside the lighthouse. She took from one of the low natural shelves a bowl filled with sand, sea salt and powdered stone that glittered black and blue and in the firelight, dipped her fingers into it and began drawing on the floor in large, intricate circles.

                She was an emissary of Calypso herself, and the goddess had brought her to this path, so that she might guide the souls of those she deemed worthy of her protection. The symbol of the trident upon Jack’s skin was a sign, not only of coming danger, but of a fate not yet relieved. Long ago the mythical object of Poseidon had been lost to the depths, hidden away from those who would take it’s great powers over the sea and use it for their own gains. The rise of its mark could only mean that the time had finally arrived for it to surface once more, and that Jack Sparrow had been chosen to play a part in this.

                The shells and bottles at the mouth of her cave rattled, and she heard the familiar, uneven thump of Barbossa’s footsteps at the entrance. He startled when he saw her nakedness but said nothing, averting his eyes and turning aside to not look at her directly, without turning his back to her completely.

                “I hope you haven’t come to try and intimidate me, Captain,” she spoke quietly before he could, continuing to trace her fingers on the rock. “Anger can only cloud the mind, not clear it.”

                “I could no more intimidate you than a fish intimidates a shark.” Hector answered, but his voice had none of its usual cordiality or warmth to it. “I sense you neglected a few details about what you saw up there.”

                “Neglect would imply intent.” She answered.

                “Shansa,” he spoke then, a bit more firmly. “You told me before that events that had been set in motion by our past. Things we are helpless to stop. This is what you spoke of, isn’t it?”

                She opened her eyes and regarded him for the first time, looking down at the symbols she had drawn intuitively upon the floor. “Sea foam turns to blood. When the red moon is high and full in the sky, the dead will take the oceans. A specter hunts the waters, searching for the one he called Sparrow long ago. His soul is cursed through unhappy accident, suffering served in unequal measure. He will take his revenge, one piece at a time, until all you know stands in ruins.”

                The pair stood in eerie silence for a long moment after this, and Shansa seemed to wilt faintly, drained by the vision she’d been sent. Hector moved towards her, removed his coat and put across her naked shoulders, careful not the smudge the markings beneath them. He drew her up and they stepped free of the circles, the woman leaning easily against him for support.

                She could hear the quickened pace of his heart in his chest, feel the cool sweat on his skin and the fresh pull of blood in his veins. “What name do you give this doom? Has yer mistress revealed that to you?” he asked.

                She shook her head and he soured. “We have to warn Jack.”

                The woman pressed herself firmer against him and flattened him to the cave wall. She was slight in figure, but strong none the less. “You cannot alter the course that has been set. Jack will meet his fate, whatever interference you set. You cannot avoid the confrontation. But I may be able to provide you an advantage.”

                “And what be that?”

                She looked back at the circles. “I do not have the answer now. But it will come to me, if Calypso wills it.”

                “Ah, but ye see, lass, therein lies my discontent. I do not trust the fate of myself nor those I care for to the whims of the gods. Not even Calypso.”

                She stroked his cheek, “But do you trust me, Captain?”

                He kissed her, feeling her press her warm, naked body against his wantonly. But he pulled away a moment later. “Only so far, my dear. Only so far.”

 

**

               

                The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and for this they were all grateful. The dread that had consumed the household passed like the storm that surrounded them, leaving clear skies and a bright waxing moon above them, rising over the port in the distance, a few short miles off the island cove where they dwelled.

                Jack kept himself busy; he spoke to the captains that had come in earlier, and had a peek at the latest acquisitions and stole a few pretty baubles for himself; he would need something to barter with, he was sure. He was going to need some fresh stores of rum, as well as a few goods from town. They grew some things on the island, but both he and Barbossa were somewhat miserable at farming and they only owned one meager little sow, who barely produced any milk. She was, however, an excellent listener; very non-judgmental. Jack appreciated that.

                But more than any of that, Jack needed Gibbs and his old crew for the new mission that was taking shape in his mind. If what Shansa predicted was true, and some old enemy was coming for his blood, then The Pearl was his saving grace. There was no more time to waste. Certainly, he could have called upon any of the other crewmen who were at his disposal for this mission, but though they seemed a hardy and stead-fast sort, Jack did not trust them with the likes of this. Few of them even knew about _The Black Pearl_ except as part of his legacy, and were they to discover its current vulnerable state, there were a few who were just ambitious enough to try and take it from him.

                No, he needed people he could t _rust_ with such a delicate mission. Someone ready to follow him into the maw of hell at a moment’s notice, no—or at least few—questions asked. And that man was Joshamee Gibbs.

                There was just one problem.

                Moving along the beach, past the harbor where the ships were moored to the more private coves, he could feel Hector’s eyes on him, watching him from afar. He knew that stare, all too well. It was the same stare Jack had endured long ago when they were captain and first mate, when too many close calls had passed between them, and secrets had started to form.

                He turned and glanced up the beach, seeing his lover standing there in the night breeze. “Are you going to come down and join me, or are you just going to gawk at me from afar? Because if it’s the latter, at least let me find a more flattering position.”

                He thought he could hear Hector’s eyes rolling with that. But the little taunt had the desired affect and soon Barbossa was standing beside him in the sand. “Fancy a stroll?”

                “Why not, it’s a beautiful night.” Jack replied, glancing above them again. The rain had cooled everything significantly and the smell of the air was fresh and crisp coming off the water. He tucked a piece of Barbossa’s hair back behind his ear, “And I must admit, you always did look rather dashing in the moonlight…except you know…when you turned skeletal and all.”

                Hector sighed. “Off to find Gibbs then, is it?”

                “You know me so well, luv.”

                “Aye, too well.” Barbossa gave him one of his long, appraising looks. “I know ye think the mermaids will lead ye to the sword, but I wonder if it’s wise to tread into those waters just now.”

                “I told you before, the mermaids—“

                “You know damn well it’s not the mermaids I’m worried about.” Hector muttered, folding his arms and looking at Jack with those sharp, blue eyes. “You heard what the woman said. Something’s out there, hunting for you. Something that wants you dead and worse I imagine. And whatever it is, it must be close by, or its power would not so readily have affected you.”

                “Hector, it’s fine now.” He opened his tunic and undid some of the wrappings around his chest, revealing that the wound had indeed all but faded away again, “Maybe it was just a fluke.” He added with a disarming, hopeful smile.

                “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

                “The kind that remembers that I’m not just any half-witted sailor who doesn’t know his keel from his stern. The kind who remembers who I am.” He drew very close to Hector and grinned, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him close as he looked up into the taller man’s eyes with his roguish charm. “Say it luv, you know how I love it when you do.”

                “ _Captain Jack Sparrow.”_ Hector replied, letting the whole title roll of his tongue slowly in a way that Jack couldn’t resist. The dark-haired man all but moaned as he pulled him in for a kiss.

                “Exactly. So there’s nothing to fret about, is there? I’ll nip over to port, grab Gibbs and one of the ships, and be back before you even have time to miss me, savvy?”

                “No, Jack.”

                Sparrow blinked. “Sorry…must have sand in my ears. What was that?”

                “Yer not takin any of them ships on this venture. I can’t risk it.” Hector looked away as Jack looked at him for a moment in bewilderment.

                “Risk what, exactly?”

                Hector didn’t answer him but fixed him with a look that was somewhere between frustration and growing distress. It was the face he always made when his insecurities, his weaknesses were being prodded at. “Dammit, Jack…”

                It was Jack’s turn to feel the burn of frustration in his chest, but to this only shrugged. “Fine then. I won’t take one of the ships. I’m sure there’s plenty of sailors who would be happy to sail with Jack Sparrow on one of his infamous adventures for a few days—“

                “ _No!_ ”

                Both of them stood for a moment in the aftermath of the outburst, saying nothing and Jack felt his face grow hot.

                “You can’t stop me, mate. This is what’s going to finally free The Pearl. I know it in my bones. Just because you’re scared—“

                “Don’t you dare—“

                “Just because you’re fucking _afraid_ doesn’t mean I’m going to stay here on this spit of land for the rest of my life! People _die_ Hector! For fuck’s sake, you know that!”

                “Shut your mouth!” Hector grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him back. “Yer selfish, Jack! Ye know damn well that something’s wrong, that you could be walkin into trap, but ye don’t care! Not as long as there’s something you want, you don’t care what happens to anyone else!”

                “ _I’m_ selfish!?” Jack barked back, eyes wide as he sputtered, “I’m right bloody _here_ , Hector, and yet every damn night, when you think I’m not looking you are wallowing over _him_ as if you were the _only one_ who lost something. As if you have the only right to grieve, or to be afraid! I let you keep me here, month after month, waiting for you to move on, but you _don’t_! And you won’t let me either, so fuck you, to say _I’m selfish_!”

                Barbossa said nothing, but all the color had gone out of his face and his eyes were wide. Jack hated the wounded, haunted look in them. He hated more that he had caused it. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he was still feeling the burning rush of anger in his throat, the trembling in his fingers from his brief outburst of emotion. He wanted to say something to banish that look from his lover’s face, to take it all back.

                And then Barbossa did something that surprised him utterly.

                “Take The Revenge. She’s well stocked and well-armed, should you come to any trouble. The smaller ships won’t be as apt to engage you on the open ocean, and the galleons know to fear her colors. She’ll serve you well.”

                He turned and started back up the beach.

                “Hector. Hector wait!”

                 But Hector did not turn, nor head his calls. Jack felt his heart twisting his chest, digging his hands into his hair and releasing an anguished little groan for his lack of composure and the cruel things he had said, even if they were true. “Dammit…damn me…” He didn’t chase after his lover, though he wanted to. Barbossa needed time to lick his wounds in peace, and Jack…needed fresh air and a stiff drink.

                 He turned and made his way down the beach towards the docks.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

 

***

 

That same evening, the dilapidated ship containing Bootstrap Bill Turner and former Lieutenant Theodore Groves arrived in the very same port. It was of mid-size, harboring a good deal of full-time residents along its shores that receded back into more deeply forested areas with well-traveled roads that lead to other towns beyond. But despite its broader population, it was still almost exclusively a pirate town, filled with many nefarious and well-known free sailors.

As they docked the boat, Groves found himself stepping upon dry land for the first time in many weeks. It was a disorienting feeling, finding the solid ground beneath his bare feet to be almost foreign to him after all this time in the water. Luckily, since he had been aboard the ship for a day or so now, his legs had regained their strength and stability, and he didn’t wobble or stumble like a new born fawn as he had in the past after transformation.

Bill had lent him a change of clothes, and even they felt odd against his skin. He looked back to the ocean, fighting an impulse to dive back into it, when Bill touched his shoulder.

“Alright, friend?”

“I…yes, fine.” He said quickly.

“How long since you last set foot on dry land?”

“Since just after I…just after I changed.” He replied. He didn’t want to talk about it at further length with Bill, for though the man seemed friendly enough, Groves sensed there was something off about him and it made him uneasy.

“Well, I suppose it will be a first for the both of us.” Bootstrap answered as he too set foot upon the dock and made his way towards the beach. He did not bother to explain what he meant by this, and Groves decided it best not to ask.

Bootstrap took the lead once they reached the roads leading up to the various shops and establishments that lined the roads before them, his eyes searching the crowd for familiar faces or likely places they would stumble upon Jack or learn further details of his whereabouts. The natural inclination was to head towards the nearest tavern.

As they walked, both men spotted a patrol of guards marching down the street, muskets in hand. Groves stopped and stood at attention, while Bill ducked around a corner instinctively, flattening himself against the wall. When he saw that Groves did not move, he gawked at him a moment and then grabbed his sleeve and yanked him behind the wall with him.

“What are you doing, you fool?! You’ll be spotted!”

“What are you on about?” Groves hissed, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You think that matters?” Bill asked quietly, peeking around the wall again as the two pairs of guards separated and made their way down separate cross-roads. “This is a pirate port, and those are naval officers. Though not the kind that you’re used to, I’m sure. They are stationed here by the crown, but they’re loyalty is only to themselves. Pirates pay to keep themselves out of a prison cell, and are the mercy of their whims if they have nothing to barter.”

Groves looked appalled by this. “That’s disgusting! Someone should—“

“Aye, you’re more than right, lad. But that someone shouldn’t be you. I don’t know much about your kind, but I can venture to guess that you haven’t the same strength on land that you do in the water, aye?”

Groves nodded slowly, feeling a growing sense of apprehension.

“Then you’d best leave this to me. Go back, mind the boat. I’ll search for Jack, and bring him back if I can.”

The black haired man eyed the older pirate carefully for a time, then nodded reluctantly.

“There’s a good lad. Sit tight, keep your head down, say nothing to anyone of what we’ve seen, understood?”

“Aye.”

Bill nodded and went off down the street once more, leaving Groves lingering restlessly at the docks. He looked out at the water, rubbing his arms in the chilled breeze that rippled off the beach. He hadn’t thought all of this would be so difficult. Not just finding Hector and Jack, but coming to grips with what he had become. The land no longer felt natural to him, and that was a startling revelation. But it was the price of losing his humanity, he supposed. Or at least a large part of it.

He looked down at his own hands, his own body, returned to the form he had possessed before the caves, before the bullet from the Spanish officer had brought him to the brink of death; before Syrena had saved him by transforming him into…this.

But whatever the sacrifice, it would be worth it to find Hector and Jack again. It was the driving force that had brought him across the Atlantic, back to these waters and these shores, pushing him day in and day out to search. Dying, losing his mortal form, become a creature of the ocean; none of this had stopped him from knowing he was in love. If anything, it had only heightened that emotion for him, because even these catastrophic events had not changed the feeling he had for Hector Barbossa.

Groves returned to the dock, sinking down on the damp, warped wood and let his feet dangle , watching the surf below him. As he did, he began to see shapes swimming in the water below him, and a moment later, two figures appeared.

Two women appeared in the surf, both appearing to be starkly naked, peered up at him.

“Groves!”

“Vela, Undine!” he called back to them by name. He paused then, looking around hurriedly to be sure that no one else had seen or heard him, then scrambled up again and made his way down to the beach towards the surf, letting the water rush to his knees as he stepped in, and feeling the intense pull of the ocean beckoning him home.

But he resisted the urge to submerge himself and change again, as the two women swam up the beach until they were next to him in the surf. Groves could see the glistening of their scales under the shallow water and the length of their long tails and fins as they danced along the sand beneath it.

“What’s going on? Have you found them, are they here?” Undine asked. She was luminous, pale skinned with long curls of dark brown hair and green eyes.

“Not yet, but I believe we’re close.” He answered.

“The others have not given word as to the whereabouts of the ghost ship, but I can still feel it’s presence in the water. It has a malignance that poisons everything around it.” The other woman, dark skinned with golden eyes called Vela spoke, her expression a worried one. “You should not remain here longer than required.”

He nodded, wishing he could slip further into the water with them. These women were what was among mermaids as a pride, a cluster of females who would gather around a single male, whom they had chosen as a breeding partner. Merman did not occur naturally; they were men chosen by mermaids to become like them in order to perpetuate their species, and thus were very rare and in need of great protection.

“I know, but if there is even the smallest chance that I might find them here then I must risk it.”

Another figure appeared in the water then, swimming towards them with haste. Tamara, leader of their pride, brought herself up into the shallows with Groves, breathing hard as if she had swum at full speed to reach him. The other maids parted to let her closer, but watched her closely.

“Tamara, what--?”

The woman, blonde and blue eyed, older than Groves by many centuries and the very same mermaid whom Barbossa had sworn to return the sword to, looked at him urgently.

“Red sails!” she gasped with urgency. Groves stared back at her in surprise, understanding. She turned and pointed off to the left, down the beach where more ships were harbored, and to one that that stood farther out in the water, casting a great shadow across the water, the moonlight filtering through the blood red sails of the large treasure galleon. There was no mistaking _The Queen Ann’s Revenge_.

Theodore’s heart was in his throat, “They’re here. They must be!”

“There are not many crewmen aboard the ship, I swam as close as I could but did not spot either Sparrow or Barbossa. They must be on land.”

He nodded gratefully to her and to the others and stumbled back towards the town, though it felt like the surf was trying to drag him back into the water with each step, the sand washing away hastily beneath his toes. Still he ran until he was free of the spell and sprinted towards the town again. Only this time, as he stood in the threshold of the gate, he realized he had no idea where Bill went. There were literally four different taverns in the small block of businesses that lined the main road; they could be at any one of them.

Swallowing his nervousness, he marched forward, shoulders squared and head high. He would search every inch of this seedy port if he had to, with or without Bill Turner’s help.

 

**

 

                The tavern Jack entered that night, and the one he frequented most was one of the smaller establishments called “The Siren”. Unlike the larger taverns, this small, dim pub catered to a slightly more exclusive group of sailors and pirate sympathizers.

                Among the dimly lit, dank hall he expected to find the familiar figure of Joshamee Gibbs, sitting at a table, heavy in his drink, trying to charm some fair lass into giving him a toss or two in one of the rooms upstairs. Old Gibbs was getting on in years and was more snowy haired than before but he hadn’t lost much of his vigor; another reason Jack had to look up to the man.

                But in scanning the tables and booths, there came no sign of the man. Jack frowned slightly, figuring that Gibbs must have had some success and was already upstairs, or perhaps he was still sleeping off the night before and hadn’t even come downstairs yet.

                The long-haired pirate moved towards the bar, pulled a few coins from his pocket and tossed them on the counter top for the barkeep. “I’ll have the rum please; the full bottle.”

                The barkeep swept up the coins, bit them to test if they were indeed genuine and then handed Jack the fullest bottle he had. Sparrow tipped his hat to him and settled down at the corner upon a stool, pulling the cork out with his teeth and taking a long swig of it. The liquor warmed him as it spilled down his throat and when he pulled back he sighed loudly licking his lips, already feeling a tingling there.

                His argument with Hector still stung, and as much as he wanted to blame the entire thing on Barbossa, he knew they were both readily at fault. Losing Groves had weighed on them both in a far more significant way than Jack expected. Especially for himself. He couldn’t help thinking how differently things would have been if all three of them had survived.

                Jack took another long pull of his drink with a frown. Death had always been part of his life, and so when inevitably he lost someone, he did his best to move on quickly. Not out of callousness, but out of necessity for his own spirit. A pirate’s life was a hard and treacherous one and Jack couldn’t afford to mourn everyone he lost along the way. It was easier not to attach. It was easier to flit in and out of people’s lives, enjoy a moment in time with them, and then move on before anything could take hold, keeping the good memories close and forgetting the rest.

                But he was so much older now; perhaps not in body thanks to fountain, but certainly in spirit. He couldn’t live that way anymore. He pulled from his belt his trusty compass and opened it, looking down at the needle in the warm yellow glow of the tavern. It spun around a few times and then settled in an easterly direction, and Jack smiled dimly, knowing it was pointing back to the island and Hector. He closed it, sighed and concentrated. “I know what I _really_ want…but what do I want _right now_.” He asked himself.

                After focusing this thought for a few seconds, the opened the lid again and watched the needle spin around and around for a second or two before pointing south this time, as in somewhere behind him. Curiously, Jack looked around the bar again but nothing new seemed to have appeared there.

                That was when he began to catch small bits of conversation from the other patrons.

                “…I saw it with my own eyes! A genuine merman!”

                “There’s no such thing, you igit!”

                “You callin’ me a liar!?”

                “There are no mermen! Only _mermaids_! That’s why they snare helpless sailors and drag ‘em down to the depths; they need to find mates.”

                “That’s ridiculous, can’t very well mate wit a man what’s already dead!”

                “Gentlemen, excuse me,” Jack said suddenly, approaching the bickering group of pirates at the table, who all turned their heads to look at him in annoyed surprise. Sparrow just offered them one of his dazzling, gold speckled smiles and continued; “I couldn’t help but overhear your discourse on the matter of merfolk. As somewhat of an expert myself, allow me to clarify a few things—“

                “Who the bloody fuck are you?”

                Jack looked annoyed and leered at the heavily bearded sailor who had spouted the question. “I, my good sir, am Captain Jack Sparrow.”

                At this the men at the table fell wide-eyed and quiet, and Jack’s smile turned smug, knowing he had their attention. He pulled up a chair and continued; “Now, merfolk are indeed very mysterious creatures. As a matter of fact there are several different species of merfolk, depending on which part of the world you find yourself in, and that’s not counting the wide variety of fresh-water nymphs and nixes and what have you—but never the less—mermaids of this region are indeed a species almost exclusively comprised of females.”

                “I told you, Whithers!”

                “Shut yer yap!”

                “Gents, gents! Allow me to finish!” Jack barked over top of the bickering. “I said _almost_. It’s as rare as a blue moon, but every so often, when a mermaid falls in love with a mortal man, or in some other manner deems them worthy of such a gift, they will take said sailor and transform him with their magic into one of their own kind.”

                “And how would you know?”

                “I’ve seen it,” Jack replied matter-of-factly, staring down the skeptic with his kohl-lined eyes. The man growled at him but grew quiet otherwise and Jack looked around at them all. “So, tell me, where is it you saw said merman?”

                “Was off the shores of St. Martin, sir,” one of the younger sailors replied. “We came across a young man in the water, stark naked, claiming to have fallen overboard. When we brought him on board, he started asking about…” the man grew quiet and looked around nervously at the other sailors and then back at Jack. “Well…about _you_ , sir.”

                At this Jack blinked then smirked and smoothed his dark mustache with his fingers as he chuckled. “Well…that certainly is interesting. And what is it he wanted with me, pray tell?”

                “Said he had been searching for you for some time, you and the pirate Barbossa…never said why…but when the crew didn’t know anything, he flopped overboard, and I swear this is true, he had a blooming tail like a fish!”

                “Nonsense,” muttered the heavily bearded pirate into his drink.

                They fell to bickering again, but Jack had gone quiet and slowly drifted away from the conversation, back to his place at the bar. As the words of the sailor rolled around in his mind, he began to consider the possibilities. It seemed far too much of a coincidence that such a short time after his dealings with the mermaids of Whitecap Bay that a _merman_ had appeared in the Caribbean Sea, searching not only for him but Barbossa by name…

                Could it perhaps be young Philip Swift? Certainly he fit the criteria of young sailor fallen in love with a daughter of the sea and was hence transformed, but…why when the two love birds (or fish) were so deeply entangled in their own affairs, would they be searching for such notorious pirates?

                “Oy, boy!” Jack called, looking back to the younger pirate, who turned slowly and drunkenly in his seat to blink at him.

                “Aye?”

                “This merman…what did he look like?”

                “A man…with a fishy lower half.”

                Jack rolled his eyes painfully, “No, lad. Stay with me now…what did the non-fishy half look like?”

                “Well, Captain sir, I didn’t rightly get a good look at ‘im…but I believe he had black hair and sort of a roundish nose…very clearly English. Spoke right proper he did.”

                Jack nodded slowly and looked back to his bottle and said nothing for several long seconds. No. No, it couldn’t be. Groves…Groves was _dead_. He’d seen where the man had been shot, heard his last words to Hector before he passed…he was gone before they fled the cave…there was no possibility…

                Oh, but wasn’t there _always_ a possibility?

                A hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he yelped, nearly dashing the bottle to the floor and whirled, only to have Gibbs grab him and keep him from going right over.

                “Easy! Easy there, Captain!”

                Jack gripped the man’s thick shoulders and stared at him. “Gibbs? Gibbs! You bastard, where have you been!?”

                The older pirate blinked slowly, “I…well…I was entertaining—“

                “Nevermind, I don’t care.” Jack muttered, tugging the man away from the bar into a darker corner of the tavern where they could speak more freely.

                “Something the matter, Jack?”

                “That remains to be seen,” Sparrow hissed suspiciously. “Tell me, have you heard anything a mysterious stranded sailor in the water asking about yours truly?”

                Gibbs blinked at him slowly and then looked at Jack closely, pressing his palm to the pirate’s forehead. “Been out in the sun too long today have ye?”

                Jack waved him off angrily. “Dammit man, I’m not impaired—at least, not that much.” Jack muttered.

                “I’m sorry, Captain, but there’s been plenty of talk lately of ships being mysteriously sunk, whole crews vanishing, but I cannot say anything for this tale of a merman.” The first mate shrugged helplessly. He eyed Jack, noting the nervous way he was standing, the rapid movements of his eyes as they scanned the room, the floor, the doorway and the nervous way he was chewing at his nails.

                “You don’t look well, Jack.”

                “I’m fine.” Sparrow muttered. “Just…contemplating.”

                Gibbs nodded slowly, knowing there was no point in prodding Sparrow for further details. Jack would say more on the matter when it suited him and not a moment before. He called the barmaid over for another round and eyed Jack steadily. “So, I understand several of the ships came into the port today. Ye must be pleased with that.”

                Jack nodded absently.

                “The crew and I were thinkin’, Captain…since the weather’s been mostly fair these past few weeks, that it might be time to consider setting sail again, seekin’ new opportunities. If you and Captain Barbossa be so inclined…”

                Sparrow glared at him sourly and Gibbs knew the expression all too well and deflated slightly. “Ah. I see you’ve already discussed the matter then, eh?”

                “He…needs more time.”

                “It’s been _months_ Jack! I understand that things have been…well, a bit of an adjustment, but…maybe it’s time to accept that Barbossa’s—“

                Jack looked at him so severely and so sharply that Gibbs didn’t dare finish his statement and sunk back in his chair. “Apologies, captain.”

                “Hector’s the same as he ever was. The Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea is not about to waste away on some spit of rock growing old and fat, sitting on piles of gold that other men fought, plundered and died for. That is not the man I know, and I’ll not have it implied otherwise, savvy?”

                “Aye sir.”

                Jack slammed down another hefty drink, finally feeling some of its numbing affects. He glared miserably at the table, far too much swirling around in his mind just then. Gibbs rose with a sigh and patted his old shipmate gently on the shoulder. “I’m always here if you need me, Jack. But I cannot say for the rest of the crew. They’re growing restless. So I’m afraid…you’re going to have to make a decision soon.”

                Jack nodded vaguely and Gibbs gave his shoulder another squeeze before quietly excusing himself and stepping outside into the dark. Jack sat there at the table, feeling miserable and direction-less. Life had a funny way of presenting him with impossible choices. The love of his life or the call of the sea. He’d already lost his ship, what would he be without his crew? Not much of a captain. Not much of anything…

                “Excuse me,” a soft voice said then as a new figure came to stand at his shoulder. “Is this seat taken?”

                Jack slowly raised his head and turned his eyes to meet the man’s standing above him. His hand lost its grip on the bottle next to him and it toppled over, splashing the remaining rum over the table’s edge and sending it dripping down to the floor.

                Bill Turner was looking down at him, that same soft, sad expression on his face that was lifted only by the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips as he regarded Jack’s growing shock. “Hello, Jack.”

                “William…”

                Jack got to his feet, pressing a hand against Bill’s chest as if to be sure he was indeed a solid force, touched his shoulders, then his face. Bill’s skin was chilled from the air but it was still warm, he had color to his cheeks, warmth in his eyes. This was not the cursed specter he’d encountered before. This was Bill as he was now; whole and free of the curse.

                Bootstrap chuckled softly at Jack’s almost childish examination of his presence and caught his hand. “I’m real, Jack. I’m alright.”

                Jack nodded, then smiled, then grinned, then began to laugh, tears filling his eyes before throwing his arms around Bill’s shoulders and pulling the taller man in hard and fast, hugging him tightly.

                Bill wrapped his arms around him in an equally tight embrace, so grateful to hold the man again that he didn’t ever want to let go.

                “I can honestly say I’m happy to see you!” Jack laughed, thinking back to his first so-called reunion with Bill Turner when he appeared aboard The Pearl in order to deliver him the black spot from Davey Jones.

                Bill beamed at this statement and leaned in and caught the man in a kiss. Jack gasped softly, almost inaudibly against his lips, and pulled back a moment later, staring at the taller brunette in surprise. “Bill, darlin’…what are you doing?”

                “I should think that was obvious,” Bill chuckled, leaning in again, but Jack held him back.

                “Luv, no. No, I’m…I’m sorry. I can’t do that anymore. I thought you understood that.” He looked at Bill carefully, as if doubting his presence of mind. “Don’t you recall? The last time I saw you on the deck of the Dutchman?”

                “Yes, I recall it well.”

                “Then you also recall that I’m still with Hector. Don’t you?”

                Bill’s warm expression faded, his eyes shifting, a small frown replacing his smile. “I…I thought perhaps,” he licked his lips nervously, glancing around. “You were alone.”

                “Only at present. Come, sit! Have a drink! What brings you here—and please tell me that The Dutchman isn’t waiting at the docks.”

                “I’ve left The Dutchman.” Bootstrap said, easing himself into a chair across from Jack, who did his best to clear the spill and discard the now empty bottle. This seemed to catch Jack by surprise once more, as his eyes widened and he pursed his lips thoughtfully before looking to him again.

                “Well, good for you! High time you went ashore, looked for new opportunities. How’s Captain Turner taking the news of your, um, retirement, shall we say?”

                “Will is why I’m here.” Bootstrap answered, somewhat gravely.

                Jack felt his momentary elation begin to drain away. “Oh.”

                “I need your help.”

                “Oh no.” He shook his head, beads and trinkets in his hair swaying and clacking together.

                “The curse. It’s returned.”

                Jack pushed his chair out from the table and stood. “No. _No_. Stop right there, dear William. _Right. There_. I just…you’ve got the wrong man.” He turned and started across the bar, but Bill was right on his heels.

                “Don’t you turn away from me, Jack Sparrow! My son is trapped aboard that ship by _your_ doing! You owe me!”

                The other pirate turned on heel and gawked at him. “I owe you? You mean for _saving_ your son, on not one, but _several_ occasions? Or would you have much preferred I left him to depths, skewered to the ship like a fish on a pike!?”

                Bill raised his hand to slap the man across the face, but Jack caught his wrist, and held him back. “I did what I had to save his life. It was not the fate I wanted for him, Bootstrap, _you know that_. What choice was I given?”

                The pair stood staring at each other a moment, the room having gone momentarily quiet around them, but soon the other patrons returned to their own drinks and conversations. Bill wilted, head in his hand. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Jack. You’re right, of course. It’s only…I can’t bear to see what’s become of him.”

                Sparrow grimaced as this friendly reunion continued to spiral into an omen of bad luck. “Don’t tell me he’s gone all…” he wiggled his fingers beneath his chin as if to indicate tentacles as Jones had.

               Bootstrap sighed heavily, “It’s not as bad as that…yet. But the transformation’s begun.”

               “The curse only befalls those who misuse their power. And I find it very hard to believe that the whelp would do something so egregious as to bring that upon himself…” he retorted, but the look in Bill’s eyes gave him doubts. Jack felt himself shiver; the Turners never ceased to marvel him with their uncanny knack for bringing danger upon themselves. “And how is it you’ve managed to escape the effects?” he asked, studying Bill closely to make sure there were no hidden signs of barnacles or other unnatural elements to him.

               “I told you, I left the Dutchman. I am released from the crew, and therefore from its enchantments.” He took Jack’s hand in his, staring at the ground between them in contrition. “I’ve been searching the seas for you for months. There’s no one else I can turn to, no one else who understands. He’s my only son, Jack. I can’t abandon him, not again.”

               Jack felt himself overwhelmed by Bootstrap’s obvious remorse and drew the man in closer, letting him lean against his shoulder, fingers laced. Bill said that he owed him, and Jack couldn’t argue this fact. Once he had loved Bill Turner, and that love had lead him to a terrible and premature end. This was a chance to make up for those terrible sins; something Jack had been trying to do for more than a decade if he was honest with himself.

                “Alright, mate, steady there…of course I’ll do all I can.”

                Bill exhaled quietly against him, squeezing his hand hard. “I knew I could count on you.”

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

 

**

                The night was waning on, and Jack had not returned. Despite their earlier row, Barbossa knew this could mean only two things; Jack was stone drunk and passed out somewhere in port, probably with that no-good Mr. Gibbs slumped right along-side him, _or_ he had gotten himself into some kind of trouble and was likely cooling his heels in a cell.

                Either way, Hector knew that whatever the cause of the delay, it was unlikely that Jack was going to return home under his own power that evening. And therefore, as all too often in their long relationship, it was up to him to rescue the man from himself.

                The journey from the island cove to the mainland port was only a few miles, and so there was no need for a large ship. Hector came ashore upon a tiny sloop, wearing his long blue coat from his days as an Admiral (though it was a bit more tattered now), his dark green breeches, and his usual tunic and vest. He pulled the brim of his hat low on his head as he hobbled up the dock towards the cobble stone streets, and most people parted to let him pass. Those that recognized him for who he was knew he was a force to be respected and fear, and gave him no trouble, some tipping their hats to him as he passed. Others, unfamiliar with him, could tell from the look of him that he was no one to be vexed and trifled with, and went about their tasks, staying clear of his path.

                He scanned the crowds for signs of Jack, or one of his usual crewmen. Passing the local brothel, he caught sight of Marty, who was sitting in the lap of one of the more voluptuous women, laughing and telling jokes. Hector glared at him from the road and turned sharply, his peg leg clattering on the stone road as he walked. He had gotten quite used to the thing, hardly needing the crutch at all these days for support. There were times he was even faster on one foot then when he’d had two.

                Marty saw him coming and spat out his wine, coughing as he looked for a quick exit. But Hector got to him first, grabbing the much smaller man by the back of his vest and hoisting him away from his company. “Where be Jack?” he demanded.

                “I-I dunno, Cap’n!” the small, bald man sputtered. Barbossa still made him nervous after all these years, even after Jack and he had made amends. “W-wasn’t he with you?”

                “If he was, would I be here pestering the likes of you in a whore house?” Barbossa sneered, rolling his eyes. Marty shrugged slowly and Hector felt so tired. He dropped the man and glared about the room. Some of the women batted their long lashes at him or waved, trying to get his attention but he ignored them all. He doubted he’d find Jack here, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. It was far more likely that he’d stumble across Gibbs here; and undoubtedly the old sea dog would know where Jack was sulking.

                “Where’s Gibbs?” he muttered.

                “Oh, he left awhile back, over to ‘The Siren’ for a drink. You might find de Cap’n there.”

                The ginger-haired pirate nodded and left the other sailor to his entertainment and skulked back outside, glaring out across the streets and the harbor beyond. He saw the sails of The Revenge in the distance; so Jack was indeed here somewhere. But seeing his ship there made Hector realize that Sparrow, at the very least, was ready to take him up on his offer and set sail alone to find the sword again.

                His already dim mood soured further as this realization stung him. Though it angered him to no end that his lover had dared insinuate that he was a coward of any kind, he was forced to admit, at least to himself, that he hadn’t been fair. He’d let his fears get the better of him, turn him into someone he barely recognized. Safe they were on land, but that wasn’t any life for two men who had always belonged to sea.

                He started off again, heading in the direction of the tavern that Marty had spoken of, when his gaze was snared by an unusual, yet seemingly familiar figure. His steps slowed and he turned to gaze at the man who stood across the street from him, several yards away, looking hopelessly out of place.

                Dark hair, lightly tan skin, dark eyes, a strong jaw and broad shoulders. He wore clothes that were ill-fitting and were too snug in some places, while too large in others. His feet were bare and even from a distance it was obvious that his skin was wet by the way his tattered shirt clung to him.

                Barbossa found himself drifting closer to the man as if snared in a trance. And that could indeed be a possibility, as he was certain that he had stepped into a dream, or was perhaps delirious, because the man before him _could not_ be there.

                As he moved closer, the heard the man’s voice as he spoke to another passing sailor. “Pardon me! I’m looking for a captain!”

                “You’ll have to be more specific, mate!”

The passing group of men laughed loudly at this, and the other man’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “I’m looking for Captain Barbossa. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. If you have information on his location, I’ll reward your—“

A hand grabbed his arm and he was turned, giving a little cry of surprise. “Unhand me--!”

“Is it you?”

Groves found himself startled into silence, blinking in confusion at the man who had taken him by surprise and stood now with an iron grip on his arm. The voice hadn’t changed, it still bore the familiar accent and slightly harsh grate to it. The hair, the clothes, the face…all rang vaguely familiar and yet somehow vastly different.

But the eyes…those blue eyes the color of the sea itself, were just the same.

“Groves? Is it you?”

The pair stood there in the street, neither saying anything for several long seconds, utterly breathless as they gazed at each other in disbelief.

“Admiral…I…your _face_ …!”

Hector moved closer, dropping his crutch and clapping his hands to either side of the man’s face and pulling him in close. “You’re alive.” It was a statement but there was so much confusion behind it, and Hector’s voice shook slightly as his lips formed the words.

Theodore nodded slowly, smile coming across his face as his eyes watered. “Yes! Yes, I’m here. I found you. _I finally found you._ ”

A cackle of laughter started to bubble up from Hector’s lips, and his eyes turned dark and wet before he grabbed Groves and pulled him, crushing his mouth against the other man’s in a way that stole the air from his lungs.

Groves responded with equal vigor, wrapping his arms tight around the slightly shorter man and crushing him hard against him, nearly knocking Hector off his feet entirely, though he didn’t seem to care.

People paused to gaze at the pair, as it was difficult to ignore such an obvious act of passion.

After several long moments of the pair seemingly trying to force themselves to become one combined being from the way they gripped each other, Hector came up for air with a gasp, lips bruised and eyes wet. He studied Groves for a moment more, than grabbed his hand tight in his and started tugging him along behind him, the pair disappearing into a narrow alley that was barely wide even for one person to travel comfortably as it was hardly more than shoulder-width across it’s threshold.

In the dark there, away from prying eyes and suspicious glances, Barbossa pressed himself up against the other man, running his hands across his body in an almost abrasive manner, needing to be sure this was not in fact a dream. “How?” he stammered finally.

Groves chuckled warmly, sweeping Hector’s hat aside so that he could better have a look at his face. He combed his fingers through the man’s hair, further surprised that the grays that had once been so characteristic of it were now gone, leaving only red and gold strands. “I very much want to ask you the same,” he gasped, looking at him closer in the pale stream of light from the lamps beyond. “You look so…”

He ran his hand across Hector’s cheeks and brow, seeing none of the lines wrinkles that he had been so familiar with. The only mark upon his skin that remained steadfast was the tear-drop shaped scar that ran from his eye down across his cheek bone.

“A parting gift from Blackbeard. He sought to take my years, but fate had other plans.”

Groves’ eyes widened. “Oh my god…the fountain…it works!”

Hector laughed, “Aye, I suppose I be the proof. Jack and myself.”

“Jack…yes, where is Jack?”

“Somewhere abouts,” Barbossa answered. He pressed himself closer to the man, almost afraid to let go. “He’ll keep for the moment. But the matter at hand be the question of how it is you aren’t de—“ Barbossa found that the words caught in his throat, bringing a rush of burning tears to his eyes that surprised him greatly. He was not a man to become so emotional about such things but this…this was perhaps an exception. “I thought you were lost to me.” He croaked at last.

“It is a rather long and curious tale,” Groves answered with another endearing laugh, bringing the other man closer against him still, trying to close what small gap there was between them with another kiss. “One that will keep for a moment…”

He kissed the other man first this time, and Hector couldn’t have resisted if he wanted to. Groves wasn’t entirely aware of it, but his new form had given him some of the siren’s glamour, making him hard to resist, especially to a man who was already in love with him.

The pair continued to kiss in the darkness, mouths eventually moving from swollen lips to jaws lines and necks, hands fumbling through each other’s clothing in an effort to feel more of the other. Groves was stunned at the way Hector’s figure had changed. He had always been strong and lean, but his body showed obvious signs of aging.  Now there was little but lean lines and hard muscle beneath his clothes.

Hector was equally impressed by how strong Grove’s felt under his hands, certain the man had not been quite so muscular before. Whatever he had been doing in the time between their last encounter at the fountain and now must have included hard and vigorous physical labor to produce such results. Had he been pressed into servitude aboard another ship? If so it certainly would explain a few things; the odd fitting clothes, his sudden appearance here with seemingly nothing but the rags on his back.

Whatever the story, Hector didn’t care. He just wanted to touch the man, kiss him, taste him, hear his voice and the sounds he made when sunk his teeth into his collar bone, or when he raked his fingers down his thigh.

Both of them had grown heated and aroused, and the dizzying rush of emotions had only heightened their sudden intense need to be as close and coupled as humanly possible. Hector pulled at the man’s loose trousers, shoving his hand down the front and earning a loud, excited groan from Groves in return, who threw his head back, one hand gripping Hector’s shoulder and the other trying to steady himself against the rough brick wall. _“Hector!”_

 The red-haired man moaned in response to the sound, feeling himself throb and twitch, practically ready to finish on just that alone. He tugged the man’s clothing free until the ill-fitting garment sagged to the ground around his ankles, leaving him exposed to the open air, which made him shiver. Hector’s had curled around him tightly, stroking him hard and fast, making his breath catch in his throat. “Please…please sir, I need you _now_. Just—“

“Hush,” the other growled softly, “ye needn’t beg.” Barbossa grabbed one of the young former lieutenant’s legs and pulled it up over his thigh, pushing the man further up the wall to get him into a better position. He fumbled with his own belt and laces until he came free, already rock hard and aching to be finished off. It was all slightly overwhelming, he couldn’t remember ever having been this hungry for another man, not in a long, long time, save for Jack.

He licked and bit his way across Theodore’s chest and collar, free hand fumbling in the pockets of his frock coat, only to produce a small vile of oil. Being enamored with someone as spontaneous and impetuous as Jack Sparrow had taught him never to go unprepared for such intimacies, as the occasion could arise at any given time and place.

He pulled the cork from the vile with his teeth and spat it to the ground and emptied the whole contents of the thumb length bottle into his palm, slicking his fingers and then his cock thoroughly before moving the same hand between Groves’ spread legs.

Feeling Hector’s fingers, Groves moaned again, cheeks red and pulled the man harder against him, knotting one of his hands in the man’s long, thick hair and turning his head sharply so that he could lick the long line of his neck, teeth scraping the skin lightly and making him shiver.

“Gods, lad, if you keep that up…” He buried his face against the side of his lover’s neck, feeling the tight ring of muscle beneath him begin to yield, allowing him to push inside him easily. Groves rocked against his fingers, impatiently wanting more.

“Are ye ready?”

Theodore answered this with another heated kiss, and carefully Barbossa removed his fingers and pressed himself against his entrance, lifting his head so that he could look the other man in the eyes.

Groves held his breath as Hector took his hips and swung himself up and forward, penetrating him in one shallow thrust, followed by another, then another until he was fully inside him with Groves’ weight settled fully on his hips.

Both of them were doing their best to keep from out right screaming into the open air with how good it felt, the captain letting his head fall against the taller man’s shoulder as he rasped for air, cursing and mumbling desperate wanton nonsense into the heated air between them, while Groves shuddered and grunted, trying to create more friction between them, anxious to be completely owned by the man as he had been before.

It was not perhaps his first choice in love-making, but at that moment he needed it; the raw abandon of it, the harsh greedy lust of it all. He had waited and searched for so long, not knowing what his lover’s fate had been after the battle, knowing only that he had been wounded and fearing that he would never find him again, or if he did that it would be to discover that something else had taken him from his life forever. So what he needed most then was an act that told him with every sense and every fiber of his being that Hector was here, alive, and _his._

Everything became a jarring, heated blur between them, sweat dripping off their skin, hands reaching, grabbing, clawing and bruising, not with intent to harm but to _feel_ as much as possible. The pair covered each other in sharp love-bites, leaving rings of reddish-purple bruises across their throats and torsos. Theodore pushed back against Hector’s thrusts, gradually forcing the man deeper inside him and causing him to almost continually strike the spot inside him that made his nerves jolt. Eventually though, Hector gained the upper hand and commanded the pace entirely and Groves surrendered, so close to orgasm he couldn’t think anymore.

He hissed and whimpered as he teetered on the edge, but not quite able to pass the threshold until Hector surprised him further by flattening him further against the wall so that he had enough to support to free one of his hands, which wrapped itself around Groves’ straining erection and squeezed roughly, rubbing his thumb over the head.

“Aahh! _H-Hector!_ ”

                Barbossa sunk his teeth into his own lower lip and held back a wail, feeling Groves splash across his hand and at the same time feeling the man’s muscles contract sharply around him. Theodore’s shaking hands gripped his shoulders. “ _Mmmm_ oh gods, Hector…!”

                The pirate made no sound at all save for a faint gasp as climax hit him with a harsh wave that made his hips sputter and his knees shake, pressing his face against the side of Theodore’s neck. His lover nuzzled him adoringly, holding the older man close for as long as he could until the worst of the shaking passed and they both began to come down from the high of it all.

                Gingerly Hector dislodged himself from the man only after he was soft enough to do so easily, allowing them both to hastily redress themselves. As they recovered, Groves began to chuckle warmly, shaking his head. “What is it about you that makes me so reckless?”

                Barbossa just smiled and kissed him again, starved for the feel of the other man and unable to get enough. Despite all the realities before him, this still felt like a dream. “Forgive a man his insecurities, m’luv…I don’t understand how you got here. How you are _here_ at all.” He glanced down at the man’s torso, though it was covered again by his ill-fitting shirt and nervously ran his hand across the skin. There was no sign of a wound or a scar there, at least nothing that he could feel. “That fuckin’ Spaniard shot you clean through…a wound like that…”

                Groves caught his hand and kissed his knuckles warmly. “Do you recall the young mermaid we freed from Blackbeard’s snare? The one so taken with young Philip Swift?”

                The pirate seemed confused, looking at him more closely. “Aye…but ye can’t mean to tell me…mermaids can heal, yes, but a mortal wound—“

                “I was dying, nearly gone. She healed me, but not in a way I expected. Not in a way I even knew possible until then. I’m…afraid I’m not…entirely as I was.” Barbossa’s eyes widened a bit further at this admission and Groves tensed nervously.

                “Ah,” the ginger haired man replied quietly, looking at him a bit more closely now in thin rays of lamp light. “Never have I seen such a thing with me own eyes, but I know better than to doubt the tales of gifts bestowed unto mortal men who won the favor of a siren.”

                “Indeed. I owe her my life and more. Without her mercy and her guidance I would not have come this far.”

                “Is the young maid with you now?”

                “No, she departed with young Mr. Swift, whom she also bestowed her gift. But some of her sisters, perhaps some you are familiar with, have traveled with me here.” He sounded flustered faintly, cheeks faintly pink. “I’m sorry, there’s just so much to tell!”

                “Aye, it would seem so.” Barbossa nodded and gradually they collected themselves and emerged upon the streets, only to hear a growing clamor coming from further up the road. Several uniformed officers on horseback came trotting up the street, and both pirates took a step back to remain out of sight.

                They watched as the horsemen were joined by several other uniformed guards and a gaggle of villagers who were all shouting and yelling as they vanished further up the street. “Seems to be some sort of trouble brewing.” Groves spoke quietly.

                Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “Aye, and I’d be willing to lay odds that Jack Sparrow be somewhere close by.”

 

**

 

                Meanwhile, unaware that either Groves or Barbossa were searching for him, Jack Sparrow was indeed mired in an entanglement of his own.

 

                He bought Bill and himself a round of drinks and settled back into their table to continue their talks without further interruption. Sparrow was eager to learn more about how Bill had found him, but Turner seemed far more interested in hearing of Jack’s many adventures.

                Never one to miss an opportunity to regale his heroic and harrowing adventures, Jack told him all that had transpired since they had last seen each other in the aftermath of their battle with the East India Trading Company.

                Bill, as always, was the ever-attentive listener, drinking in Jack’s expressive features as the man spun a tale of dark magic, attempted mutiny, mermaids and supernatural wonders, clever escapes and of course romantic entanglements.

                Jack had only gotten to the part of his story where he and Barbossa escaped Ponce De Leon’s ship, when something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye; Sparrow noted a new figure duck into the tavern, slipping in through an open window and at once huddling in a dark corner beneath the eve of the stair well.

                She was a girl, perhaps no more than fifteen, with a head of dark auburn hair that hung in tangled ringlets around her shoulders. She was a gangly thing with a long neck and somewhat bony arms, wearing a powder blue dress that was dirty and ragged on the bottom, with several loose seems along the bodice and arms that revealed patches of her shift robe. In her hand she seemed to be clutching an old leather bound book.

                “Jack?”

                Bill’s voice brought his attention back to his old shipmate, and he blinked vaguely in slightly drunken confusion.

                “Wot?”

                Bootstrap followed his gaze towards the stairwell where the child seemed to be lurking. “What do you think that’s about?”

                “Dunno, could be any number of things in a port like this,” Jack answered. He took another drink and pretended not to be interested. “Now…where was I?”

                “You had escaped certain doom, yet again, I believe it was.” Bill said fondly, putting his hand over Jack’s, fingers brushing along his rings and knuckles in a loving, affectionate way. Jack allowed it for a moment or two then withdrew without saying anything, moving into another excited gesture as his eyes gleamed.

                “Ah yes! Nearly crushed to death beneath the rubble of an ancient land-locked ship! Who else but yours truly could boast such a thing! But, through my quick thinking, I managed to sweep both Barbossa and I too safety, nary a scratch upon us! Till I was bloody well brained by an impetuous naval officer named Groves.” He laughed at the memory, though honestly that spot on the back of his skull still ached sometimes.

                But it was here that Bill raised a brow in surprise. “'Groves', did you say?”

                “Aye…at that time he was part of the excursion that Barbossa was leading for the king; before we caught up to one another on the aforementioned ship. You see, Groves had developed a rather strong infatuation with ‘Admiral Barbossa’ over the course of Hector’s so-called service to the crown, and it had all come to a bloody head there in the jungle…but I didn’t know this at the time, mind you. I thought he was just some obnoxious bastard who was trying to steal what was rightfully mine. But I was very wrong on that fact…oh very wrong indeed.” A familiar sadness crept back into his voice and he stared into his drink for a moment, feeling the pang of heartache. Then his brow furrowed, remembering in part his conversation from earlier, before Bill arrived.

                “Bill,” he said quietly then, looking at the man with seriousness now. “In yer travels here…tell me, have you seen or heard anything of a…unusual nature, looking for me?”

                Bill stilled, color gone from his face. Still, he gave Jack a slow, measured answered. “What makes you ask?”

                “It’s come to my attention that…someone else might be looking for me. It’s…oh how do I explain? Let me skip to the point—“

                Before he could do this however, he noticed commotion outside the windows and doors of the tavern, and several uniformed officers shouting orders to each other. This made a good number of the patrons inside The Siren sit up and take notice, even driving a few to make a hasty exit where they could.

                Jack reached for one of his many pistols, knowing the bounty on his head was indescribably high at this point and that even in these friendly waters there were those who wouldn’t hesitate to collect on it. But in doing so, he noted the girl huddled in the corner again and that her eyes grew wide and fearful at the sound of the guard’s voices outside.

                He realized that these men were after her. And that was indeed interesting.

                He rose quietly and slowly from his seat, nodding for Bill to follow suit and casually made his way towards the stairs. He stopped to stand there beside them, covering the girl from sight as Bill took a position a little farther away, securing an escape route out another small open window.

                “No sudden moves, darling,” he said quietly, speaking to the girl though his back was turned to her. “Seems you’re in a bit of a tight spot.”

                “I’m fine,” came the short, curt answer from behind him. “Your assistance isn’t needed here, I have nothing to hide. _Go away!_ ” she added with an air of anxious impatience.

                “That would speak contradictory to your present position,” Jack answered slyly, rocking lazily back and forth on his heels as he watched the officers outside take positions around the tavern to keep anyone from leaving. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

                She slunk a bit further into the shadows and Jack heard the distinct jingle of a chain rattling along the wooden floorboards. He glanced over his shoulder now and saw the young woman giving him a look that was something akin to that of a cornered animal. “Ah. Say no more.”

                The next moment officers stormed the tavern, bearing their weapons as they pushed forward, baring the exit entirely save for the small path they made to allow their lieutenant to enter. The man regarded the crowd of pirates with a scathing, severe look, his hands tucked behind his back. He looked for all the world like he would love nothing better than to see every single patron within the dingy hall dangling from a noose. But he kept his silence for several long moments before finally speaking.

“Gentlemen, a moment of your time, if I may.” he began, stalking quietly along the length of the room, eyeing each person he passed with suspicion. “My men and I are in pursuit of a young woman—a witch—who escaped custody just a few short hours ago. We believe that she is roaming the port still, and may be hiding in this establishment.”

The patrons looked at each other cautiously, muttering quietly between themselves. But it was Jack who scoffed quietly under his breath. Unfortunately, the small mocking sound did not go unnoticed by the stern man’s sharp ears, and he turned his fiery gaze upon Jack.

“You there, sailor,” he said, stepping swiftly towards him.

Jack eyed him with vague, drunk curiosity, showing no signs of nervousness. He remained firmly planted upon his feet, blocking view of the young woman behind him. Bill vanished a little further into the shadows, though his hand was on the hilt of his knife, ready to jump to Jack’s defense at a moment’s notice.

“Captain,” Jack corrected as the man came to stand before him, glaring down his nose at the shorter, dark skinned man. “You’ll address me as _Captain._ ”

The other man leered at Jack and cracked a mean, yellow toothed smile. “Apologies, _Captain,_ ” he retorted, all but spitting in Jack’s face and making the man wince at his terrible breath. “But did you find something about this situation amusing?”

Jack gave the man one of his winning smiles, “’Sorry, didn’t get your name, mate.”

“ _Lieutenant_ Scarfield,” the ruddy cheeked man replied with a snarl.

Jack winced again and pushed him back lightly with his fingertips, making the man’s eyes bulge at the audacity, though Sparrow didn’t seem to notice or care. “Right then, lieutenant. You must forgive my little jest…one can’t help it, you see, not when ignorant rabble all too often go about crying ‘witch’ over every little thing they see that they don’t immediately understand. So when you say to me, sir, that you are in pursuit of a witch, I cannot help but laugh. As I much imagine your so called ‘witch’ is hardly the real thing.”

“Are you challenging the rulings of the king’s officials? Indeed the ruling of the clergy itself?”

“Yes and yes!” Jack replied enthusiastically, much to everyone surprise. “I mean, when you consider the former is a rather over-stuffed pompous cry-baby—whom I’ve met personally by the way-- and the latter are a bunch of repressed fanatical con-men, well I fail to see how there can be any other answer.”

Behind the arguing pair, the room had begun to clear, the other patrons backing as far away from the impending brawl as possible while the remaining soldiers gawked at the pirates’ nerve to speak to their leader in such an insulting manner.

“Are you _completely_ drunk,” Scarfield spat, gripping Jack by the front of his coat and dragging him forward a step. “Or just a complete idiot?”

Jack just continued to smile and shook his head slowly, looking down at the man’s thick fingers wrapped around his coat. “I wish you hadn’t’ve done that mate,” he sighed, pulling two pistols from his belt and pointing both squarely at Scarfield.

But the Lieutenant did not look troubled by this as he unsheathed his sword and brought the tip against Jack’s chest as the sound of his half dozen compatriots turned their muskets on Sparrow as well. “Do you now?”

“Aye,” Jack answered. “I do.”

There came the sound of even more pistols being cocked, and Scarfield glanced slowly behind him to see that his men were now being held at gun and sword point by twice as many patrons, and by a new gaggle of sailors—including Gibbs and Marty—who had snuck up behind them in the doorway.

Scarfield turned, gawking in astonishment and growing temper until Bill came behind him with his knife and wrapped one strong arm around his shoulders and threatened to slit his throat right there. “Drop yer weapons,” he warned in a harsh muttered.

Cursing the lieutenant did just that, allowing his sword to drop to the floor.

Jack laughed and stepped forward with a strut, looking almost too smug to bear. “Seems you forgot that the king doesn’t run this port, mate. The Brethren Court does. And as Pirate Lord of these waters, you make a rather grave error threatening me.”

Scarfield’s face was so red with fury that he resembled a tomato. “I’ll see you hang yet Jack Sparrow!”

Jack giggled in delight. “Oh! So you _have_ heard of me!” He turned to smile at Gibbs and the others.  “See! I told you!”

“Jack!”

Gibbs shouted the alarm just as one of the other officers near the door lifted his gun and made to take aim at Jack. The shot cracked across the tavern, and the bullet rushed upward, catching Jack’s hat and flinging it from his head as the man yelped.

This of course, caused the pirates to open fire on the other officers, who were quick to return, and soon the entire place was in utter chaos, people fleeing, brawling, shooting and stabbing one another.

Bill shoved Scarfield to the floor and kicked him hard in the ribs before lunging for Jack, but the man was already making his exit, catching Bill’s hand as he started towards the window behind the stairs. Much to his surprise, the young woman had vanished utterly, but before he could ask further questions, Scarfield was barreling towards them with his sword.

Jack unsheathed his in time to parry his attack, meeting him blow for blow with steel clanging together as they tried to drive each other back and forth across the floor, narrowly avoiding the raging fight around them.

“Jack Sparrow! I should have known you’d be involved in protecting a little heretic like her!”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate!” Jack replied. “But if it pisses you off, I’m glad to oblige!”

The Lieutenant took a wide, angry swing at Jack that lopped off a piece of his hair, and Sparrow cursed venomously and came at him hard, leaping up onto a table before grabbing the low-hanging metal chandler above it and swinging forward, kicking the man in the face and sending him crashing into another table, which broke under the weight of him and left him flat on the floor.

“No one touches my hair, savvy!”

“Jack, we’ve got to go!” Bill had his arm again, tugging him towards the window, which they hurriedly scrambled out of. It was only once they were running through the back street that Jack stopped and turned back. “Gibbs!”

“No time,” Bill insisted. “I’m sure they're fine!”

Sparrow remained reluctant, until his attention was drawn elsewhere. Once again he caught sight of the young woman he’d seen in the bar, the girl struggling to climb several rickety crates that lead into what appeared to be an empty cartography shop.

Jack stared at her a moment, then marched forward.  She paid him no mind until he grabbed the bit of broken chain that remained around her ankle and yanked her down from her precarious position, letting her fall into a large bail of wet hay that stood beside it.

“Damn you! What did you do that for!?” she screamed, kicking and fighting with her skirts as she attempted to right herself.

“Hold on a tic,” Sparrow said, pulling out his pistol and pointing it at her lazily. The action had the desired effect of forcing her to be still for a moment, looking at him dubiously. “I saved your life back there, little missy. And hence, you owe me something.”

She gave him a nervous and somewhat disgusted look and Jack blinked, making a disgusted look of his own and shook his head. “Ew, no! That’s _not_ what I’m referring to! Dear God…what kind of man do you take me for?”

“A pirate,” she answered tartly.

Jack almost smiled. “Touche, luv. Now, as I was saying; I did you a favor and so you owe me a kindness in return. Lucky you, I’m asking very little today. All I want to know, is why those men are after you, and why they claim you’re a witch.” He studied her a bit more closely. “You’re not, are you?”

“NO!” she shouted.

Sparrow bristled slightly and looked back at Bill. “See. I told you. I know a witch when I see one, and this isn’t it.” He looked back at the girl, squinting at her a bit more closely. Something about her was vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, as he was certain he had never seen her before.

Finally the girl managed to fully right herself and stood up, brushing straw from her hair and clothes. A moment later, her blue eyes widened and she began to look around in a panic. “Oh no…oh no where is it!?” she gasped.

“Where’s what?”

“My book, you idiot!”

“Well you needn’t be so bloody rude about it,” Jack muttered, tucking his gun away and casting about for some sign of her lost possession. “If you’ve lost it, I’m sure you can find another one somewhere. People are always tossing useless things like that. I’m sure you could find an even better one.”

“Books are not _useless_ ,” she sighed in exasperation. “And _no_ , I cannot find a ‘better one’, thank you very much! This is no ordinary book, it’s—“ her explanation faltered as she discovered her missing possession in the hands of Bill Turner, who had happened upon it.

Bootstrap was thumbing through the pages with vague curiosity, until he came across a page with an old illustration of what appeared to be a trident. The page was well worn and the book opened to it almost naturally, as if it had been turned there many times before. Bill stared at the drawing for a long moment, though he could not make out the words in the passage below it. He felt drawn to it, as if it held some secret to it.  But his revere was broken by the silence, and he shut the book again carefully, looking up at the young woman as she started towards him. “Might this be what you’re looking for, Miss?”

She walked hurriedly towards him and snatched it from his hand, hugging it close to her chest. “Be careful with that,” she said, though her voice wasn’t as sharp as it had been a moment ago. “It’s very old, and precious.”

“Indeed. I didn’t recognize the text. What language is it.”

“Latin,” she answered.

“And how does a urchin of a girl like yourself come to learn Latin?” Jack asked behind her. She turned and looked him up and down.

“By making something of herself, sir. The way anyone does.”

Bill and Jack exchanged looks over her head, and Jack smiled a bit. “I like her.”

Bootstrap nodded and returned his gaze to the girl, “I’d wager that it’s that curious book you carry that makes them call you a witch. People, especially people like them, go a bit funny and flustered when they see something they deem…unusual. And that’s as unusual as anything I’ve come by.”

“Says the man who literally used to have a starfish growing out of his face,” Jack muttered quietly, and both Bootstrap and the girl looked at him, to which he simply shrugged.

“It’s not the book,” she replied, “though that’s more than enough to condemn me to some.”

“Then what, I wonder?” Jack asked.

The girl did not look eager to reply, curling in a little further on herself, though she bristled at the same time, not unlike a wary cat. “Why are you so eager to know?”

Jack looked down at the chain still dangling from her foot. “Bet that’s starting to sting a bit. The metal bites at your skin after awhile, leaves terrible marks. Gives way to infection if it’s left for too long. I could remove it for you, but, seeing as you can more than take care of yourself I’ll leave you to it.” He stretched and motioned for Bill to follow him, and as they began to draw further down the street, the girl called back to them.

“If I tell you, will you take me away from this place?”

Jack paused thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “Where do you want to go, luv?”

“Anywhere. Just…away from here.”

Sparrow seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. “Very well then, lass. You have yourself a deal.” He reached out his hand to shake hers, but before he could take it, he felt the distinct prick of a sword blade pressing against his back, digging into his skin even through his many layers of clothing.

A hard hand grasped his shoulder and stilled him, and he heard Scarfield’s voice in his ear. “I’m afraid the only place you’ll be accompanying the young lady to, captain, is a prison cell.”

“Buggar.”

They were immediately surrounded by the remaining members of Scarfield’s guard, who pointed their muskets at the young woman and Bootstrap, should either of them try to make a move to escape.

“Alright mate, you’ve had your fun.” Jack muttered, reaching into his coat slowly and pulling out a small purse, containing ten gold pieces and an assortment of small but priceless gems. “Here’s for your trouble…I won’t say anything to the King if you don’t.”

The ruddy faced man snatched the bag from Jack’s fingers and hurled it into the mud, dragging Sparrow backwards before slamming him up against the brick wall, twisting his arms behind his back in order to bind them in shackles. Jack struggled and cursed, and this only earned him more of the other man’s temper, until he finally clouted the man so hard across the head that Jack went down in a heap.

The girl screamed, but they had already bound her arms. Bill tried to move towards Jack, only to receive the butt of a musket against his own head, sending him crashing to the ground as well. A wagon was pulled to the end of the street, and the guards dragged Sparrow and the young witch towards it. They made to reach for Bootstrap, but Scarfield shook his head.

“Leave that one, cells are full enough as it is.”

“Aye sir.”

They turned, leaving Bootstrap dizzy and prone in the dark, unable to collect himself fully until the sound of the horses and wagon were already drifting into the distance. He staggered to his feet with some difficulty, shouting after them, even though he knew it would do no good. Rushing into the road, he caught sight of the cart far down the road, traveling towards what looked like a large stone fort that stood on a cliff farther along the shoreline.

“What do you mean you don’t know where he is!?”

Bill jolted at the sound a familiar voice raging somewhere in the distance behind him then, and turned sharply to find its source. Outside the glass strewn and battered remains of The Siren, he caught sight of a man with one leg, wearing a long blue coat and sporting an all too familiar black feathered hat, screeching at the hapless figure of Joshamee Gibbs. Beside the man stood Bill’s companion, none other than the young mysterious merman he’d arrived in port with.

Immediately Bootstrap ducked back into the shadows, flattening himself against the wall and listening intently to the heated conversation between Barbossa and Gibbs.

“I told ya, I don’t know! The captain made a hasty exit whilst the fight was still going, I didn’t see which way he went!”

“Gibbs, ye useless lout, remind me again what it is we keep ye around for?” Hector groaned, scrubbing his hand angrily across his face in frustration.

“I be only one man, Barbossa! Jack Sparrow, as ye well know, is a bleedin’ force of nature the likes of a hurricane, and cannot expect to be managed by one wilting, greying old sailor!” Gibbs shouted back.

“Gentlemen, please!” Groves begged, attempting to intervene. “I’m sure wherever Jack’s gone, it isn’t far. We’ll find him, but not if we continue on like this.”

“Aye, yer right,” the one legged captain relented at last. “Yet I know in my bones something’s amiss. Was he alone when ya saw him?”

Gibbs considered this for a moment, and Bill felt his heart skip a beat. He was not prepared to deal with Barbossa, or the fallout that would surely come from Jack learning of his last encounter with the man. He needed more time with Jack, to convince him to come away with him.

“I did see him with another man…though I didn’t get a good look at ‘im. Wore a long coat he did, and an old wool cap, but cannot recall much else.”

“Take the crew and start searching,” Hector instructed, “Groves and I will make some inquiries. If the law is involved and he was caught, I can wager a guess where they’d take him.”

“Aye, sir. Will ye be needin’ any assistance?”

“Nay, Groves be all the assistance I need. You search the port in case he managed to escape, we’ll meet back at the dock in an hour.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for the long delay!
> 
> ***Reminder that this story is AU and Carina is somewhat different that she was in the canon/movie verse

**

 

                Jack recovered as he hit the floor of his cell, _hard,_ shackles rattling. He groaned and grunted, rolling into a sitting position and turning to glare back at the guard as they secured the lock of his bars and gave him a snide little glance before stepping away.

                Sparrow didn’t bother to protest much; he’d been in jail more times than he could count, (probably literally) and more often than not, found it was simply useless to beg. And begging wasn’t much his style anyway. He realized quickly, however, that he was not alone. In the cell across from his, he spotted the girl from before. She sat huddled in the corner, angrily and guardedly clutching her book, looking up at the moonlight streaming in through the bars of her tiny window.

                Jack moved towards the door, leaning against it and pondered her a moment before speaking; “Alright luv, looks as if the jig is up. We’re both caught and we’re both considered two of the most vile things in existence as far as the crown is concerned. Best walk away while you’re still able.”

                She turned towards him, curling whipping about and glared at him, as if annoyed that he had broken her silence. “What are you talking about?”

                “I mean, recant, darling. Give up the book, apologize for cavorting with the devil…or whatever it is they think witches do these days and promise to be a good little girl from now on. A few Hail Marys, splashed with some holy water, lectured by a priest for hours—probably the worst of it—and you’re free to go.”

                She glared at him. “No. I refuse.”

                He scoffed quietly, shaking his head. “You refuse what, exactly? To save yourself? If you haven’t learned by now, these men are not exactly merciful in nature. They are not going to spare you because you’re a child—“

                “I am not a child! I have made my own way in this world for years, don’t you dare—“

                “Steady, steady on now…” Sparrow hushed her, growing ever more intrigued with her by the minute. His eyes drifted back to the book in her arms. “It’s about the book, isn’t it?”

                “What?”

                “You won’t give up the book. It must be very precious indeed. What is it, exactly?”

                She looked reluctant to tell him and scowled down at the ground again, but Jack didn’t give up. “What’s your name?”

                “Carina. Carina Smyth.”

                “Haven’t you got anyone to look after you, Ms. Smyth?”

                “No. My mother vanished a few years ago.”

                “What of your father?”

                “I never knew him.”

                “Ah. Makes you an orphan then, I suppose. Pity.” He studied her a bit further, his curiosity hungry for more details. “Aye, but you’re awfully clever and well-spoken for a street urchin. And you must be very brave, considering that broken chain around your ankle. You escaped from here once already, am I right?”

                “What business is it of yours?”

                “Well, considering the only reason I’m spending my evening in this charming little cell is because I attempted to spare you the noose; I think that makes it my business, don’t you?”

                She softened at last, looking faintly remorseful. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean for you and your friend to get caught up in this. You ought not to have done it. No one else would have. I hope your friend is alright.”

                Jack didn’t reply at once, suddenly realizing that Bill was nowhere in sight. This either meant he had somehow managed to escape the brawl in the alley, or that they had killed him. Jack doubted it was the latter. Bootstrap was not the strongest fighter, but he certainly could take a punch or two, and he didn’t go down easily.

                “I’m sure he’s fine. Probably rallying a rescue as we speak.” He tried to give her an encouraging smile, but she didn’t look convinced. This was no wide-eyed, innocent whelp he was looking at, no spoiled run away who was out trying to test her boundaries and defy her parents. If she were, she would not seem so resigned to the state of things as they were. “You said that it wasn’t just your literacy they condemned you for. What does that mean?”

                “Do you ever shut up?” she sighed, looking somewhat exasperated at all his prodding and poking into her private affairs. Yet nothing she did seemed to put off his curiosity, and he was right—she had effectively landed him in the hot seat for trying to help her—she supposed she at least owed him a bit of conversation if nothing else. “Sorry,” she muttered, glancing about nervously, wondering if they were in fact being listened to by other prisoners or the guards. “But I don’t quite know how to explain it.”

                “Ever hex anyone?”

                “What? No!”

                Jack scoffed, “Some bloody witch you are…just as I thought.”

                “And what would a pirate know about witches?” she snapped back. Jack gave her a bright and knowing smile, smoothing out his facial hair again.

                “What indeed, luv? What indeed.”

                They grew tired for a time, Jack waiting out his drunkenness, trying to calculate in his head the amount of time that had passed between when he had left home, to when he had been captured at The Siren to this very moment. Surely Hector would have noticed his absence by now, and being the perceptive being he was, would come to investigate. Unless he was truly angry with Jack…then he might be inclined to let him rot for an evening. He wished again he’d held his temper and his tongue and had not said all those things he had.

                “So…that book is worth being hung by your neck until dead, is it? Tell me it’s at least an interesting story.’

                “It’s not that kind of book. It’s a sort of…journal. A guide, written by Galileo. He studied the tides and the heavens, charted the stars and the moon, and how they affect one another. My mother told me that if I studied the book, learned its secrets…I would find my purpose in the world. So that’s what I’m going to do, Captain. And the only way anyone is going to take this from me…is if I am indeed good and dead.”

                Jack said nothing at her for a moment, surveying her with a knitted brow, then yawned and stretched his arms above his head, shackles rattling again. “I said an _interesting_ story, luv, not a long one.”

                Her tanned and freckled cheeks grew hot pink and she darted up from her place, finding a small rock upon the floor and hurled it at him through the bars. It missed of course, bouncing off and clattering across the floor, causing the guard from further up the hall to yell back at them.

                When he was sure the guard wasn’t listening, the captain looked to the girl again. “Down to business then. How did you get out of here the first time?”

                “What?”

                Jack rolled his eyes, “You escaped from here before, yeah? So, how did you do it?”

                “Oh…” Carina glanced about cell, “last time I had a bit of sharp metal that I used to file it down…but this isn’t the same cell as before.” She cast about and realized that indeed she was at least three cells away from her previous one. A tiny bit of panic pinched in her chest then, but she did her best not let the pirate see it in her face.

                Sparrow sighed, allowing his head to clunk slightly against the metal. He was tired, face and head still smarting from his tussle. This night wasn’t turning out at all how he’d expected. He turned his gaze to the hinges of his cell door and started to work at them, grabbing the small rock from the floor to do so. As he busied himself with this, his mind tried to sort out the events of the evening, which suddenly seemed long and jumbled.

                Firstly there were the rumors about the merman, and whether or not the creature in question could in fact be none other than Theodore Groves, suddenly back from the dead. Then there was Bill’s abrupt appearance, and the bizarre reoccurrence of the Dutchman’s curse. This was to say nothing of his wound reappearing and the warning from Shansa. And now there was this strange girl…somehow these pieces all fit together, but Jack couldn’t riddle it out.

                He kept banging away at the hinges, trying to force the nail up, the noise causing an equal pounding in his head, until he felt that same sharp pain in his chest again and gasped, gritting his teeth and dropping his tool as he clutched at the wound.

                “No, not now…”

                Pulling open his jacket, vest and shirt he could see the bleeding had started again and he covered it with his hand, leaning against the bars with an expression of growing dread.

                “Are you alright?” Carina asked. She had moved from her corner to the bars of her own cell and was looking at his slumped figure with concern.

                “It’s nothing,” Jack muttered. The pain sharpened and he gripped the bars with his free hand in an effort to anchor himself. “Nnaah! Dammit what--?”

                “Is that…?” The girl was staring at what she could see of the wound on his skin and her eyes were wide indeed. “Is that the shape of a trident?”

                “Clever girl, very perceptive, but please don’t bother me with your academics right now, I’m _bleeding_ if you didn’t notice.”

                She ignored him, opening her book and hurriedly flipping through the well-worn, yellowed pages until she came to what appeared to have been a heavily researched chapter, for the text was beginning to smudge, and the edges of pages were dog-eared and worn thin from being handled so often.

                The girl looked down at the passage, containing many drawings and sketches of the very same object that was etched into the pirate’s skin, though some varied in size ad detail. There were a great many notes in the margins as well, some made by the author, and others by Carina’s own hand.

“The Trident of Poseidon…he used it to control the tides themselves, to alter course of ships, and strike down anyone who dared try to take it from him. He imbued it with his own godly abilities and magic. Anyone who possessed it controlled the fate of all those bound to the sea.”

“Fascinating, luv, but could you—“

She was staring at him with her big blue eyes, the freckles across her nose and cheekbones a bit more apparent in the orange-tinted moonlight. Jack did not like at all the look she was giving him, for it chilled him down to his bones.

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” she breathed, as if suddenly connecting the name in her mind. “ _Sparrow._ The bird, flying over the bloody sea. _You_! You were in my vision!”

Jack immediately made a face that told Carina just what he thought of _that_ idea. “Vision? Vision of what?! I thought you said you weren’t—“ outside the moon was rising higher in the sky and color of it continued to show a rusty gleaming orange that was growing darker all the time, like blood stained teeth.

Sparrow had that feeling again that something was lurking in the dark, that something was waiting, watching, breathing down his neck. Something filled with hatred so putrid it was sickening. Carina looked down at the book again, the rays of the waxing blood moon drifting across it’s worn pages. She saw something then that she hadn’t before.

Scrawled in the margins of the pages, beneath her own hand writing, words and numbers became illuminated by the red light. She realized, after a moment that they were coordinates, alongside a small inscription which read; _“To wield the trident of Poseidon is to hold sway over all bound to the sea through magic or blood. To bind or to free, only the wielder may choose.”_

For a moment, the two jail mates said nothing, blinking in the dim torch light between them.

“So,” Jack said softly then. “It would seem you do have…a rare talent.”

There came a noise from further up the hall then, and Jack looked up at the sound of a familiar voice barking at one of the guards, who quickly scuttled out of the way, begging apologies.

Sparrow rose from his place on the floor and peered through the bars as Barbossa came sweeping towards him, his peg leg clacking loudly upon the stone floor as he moved to stand in front of him. The ginger-haired pirate gave him a long look of irritation and disappointment, folding his arms across his chest as he sighed heavily.

“Jack Sparrow, can ye not go for one day without bringing some trouble down on your own bleeding skull?”

“I’m glad to see you too, luv.” Jack offered with a thin smile. Barbossa leaned a little closer to the bars and looked the shorter man over with an appraising eye, noticing the way he was standing and the disarray of his clothing and so on.

“Are ye alright?”

Jack had no idea how to answer that question. His head was absolutely swimming. “I’ve had…a rather interesting evening.” He glanced over his shoulder, causing Barbossa to turn and look at the young girl behind him, who had snapped her book shut quickly and hugged it hard to her chest.

“That so?”

“Bought my way out did you?”

“Yes, and yer getting more and more expensive. Soon it’ll cost me a whole bloody ship.”

“Have ye got enough for that one?” he asked.

Barbossa raised his brows in surprise, looking between Jack and the girl. Sparrow didn’t explain, he only gave the man one of his quietly assuring looks, meaning that he would explain everything later. Hector hated those looks, but he had learned to trust them never the less.

One of the guards was ease dropping on their conversation from the doorway and Hector looked at him, startling him. “We’ll be taking the girl as well.”

“Oh, I, that is sir…” the young man sputtered, looking rather antsy as he cast about for some clarity on the situation. Another figure came into the prison hold then, one that Jack recognized as the foul tempered Lieutenant Scarfield from earlier.

“The witch stays. So does the pirate.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to contest that claim,” Barbossa bristled, drawing himself up to full height and glaring at the man as he approached. “I’ve paid for the man’s freedom, as I have done so before, Lieutenant. I have an arrangement with your superiors, so if you have issue with this, I suggest you take your grievances to them and let us pass.”

And here at last Scarfield looked somewhat defeated, finally losing some of his pompousness. He snarled at Barbossa however, and grabbed his arm forcefully. Both Jack and the young guard gave a simultaneous gasp at this action.

“You and your kind think that you have free reign here. Well, I can promise you, _Captain_ , that that time is drawing to a close. One of these days I’ll make an example of you and that drunken wretch.”

Hector did not reply immediately, just glaring into the other man’s face with his usual steely blue-eyed gaze. “You’ve said your piece, Lieutenant. Now you will remove your hand from me and allow myself, Captain Sparrow and the young lady here to pass because you know that it can be no other way. And pray that you never have occasion to lay your hand upon me again; for I swear it will be last thing you ever do.”

The Lieutenant bristled, but relinquished his grip and after another tense second or two he turned and marched back up the hall to the stairs leading above, leaving the younger guard alone. He hastened to undo Jack’s cell, and his shackles, followed by Carina’s.

“Care to tell me what your plan is?”

“Of course, darling. As soon as I think of one.” Jack replied, allowing himself to be escorted out by the older man, nudging Carina along in front.

They made their way up the winding steps to the upper level of the fort and its front gates, Jack waving smugly to the armed officers as he passed. “Thank you all for the _lovely_ evening, gentlemen, so sorry we can’t stay, but I do have a previous engagement. But, at the very least, you’ll be able to tell the story of how you _briefly_ captured the illustrious Captain Jack Sparrow!”

“Do you _ever_ stop?” Hector muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t really angry.

“No, and shame on you for asking.”

Just as they stepped beyond the threshold, however, Hector stopped and turned to his lover and shipmate, “Jack, there’s something I need to tell you—“

“Don’t think of it mate, we both said things—“

“Nevermind that, you git. This is more important. We’ve an unexpected guest to attend.”

Jack tensed, assuming at once that Hector must mean Bill, who was still suspiciously absent. He began to speak, when a new figure approached them from beneath the shadow of the wall.

“Hello Jack. You’re looking…well.” Groves spoke, smiling warmly at the man and trying not to let his nervousness show.

At first Sparrow did nothing at all, he just stood there blinking at the man who he had assumed dead for many months. The man both he and Hector had mourned, and the cause of the tension that had grown between them as well.

Hector’s hand came behind Jack’s back as if to brace him. “Your eyes are not fooled.”

Groves moved closer when Jack didn’t say anything, glancing nervously at Barbossa. “Jack? I’m sorry…I know this is a bit of a shock. But I’m so, so happy to see you, both of you and—“

Sparrow jolted forward suddenly, clapped his hands to either side of Grove’s face and pulled him down into a kiss that effectively broke off the rest of whatever the young Lieutenant intended to say and Hector chuckled softly behind them.

The long haired pirate pulled back after a moment, blinking and licking his lips. “Well…no one who was indeed dead could kiss so well, so, I must assume then that you are indeed alive, Mr. Groves. And…” he looked at the man a bit more closely, almost suspiciously and Theodore blushed faintly. “As I hear tell…you’ve become somewhat of a strong swimmer, eh?”

Groves blinked in surprise at this statement, understanding immediately Jack’s meaning behind it. But before he could inquire further on the matter, Barbossa drew closer, looking about suspiciously, “We mustn’t linger here, I can feel eyes upon us. The ship and Gibbs are waiting for us at the docks, let’s not keep them.” He turned then to the young woman who seemed to be trying to decide whether or not she was going to make a run for it.

“And what of this one then?”

“She’s coming with us.” Jack said quickly and decisively. Both Hector and the girl fixed him with a  surprised look that Sparrow found bizarrely similar in execution.

“I never agreed to such a thing.” Carina replied tartly.

“Ah, but you haven’t anywhere else to go have you? And I’ve a great deal more questions to put to you, miss witch, when I’m properly rested enough to do so.”

“Witch?” Hector eyed the girl curiously and she shuddered a little under his gaze. “Hmm. We shall see about that I suppose.”

They moved close together through the darkened streets back towards the docks, all three men ready to defend themselves should they come to further trouble, and the girl keeping herself well-guarded between them.

Indeed they felt eyes watching them as they past, and Jack just missed the shadow of Bill Turner, following them at careful length towards the docks. Frustration and jealousy boiled in him as he watched Barbossa and now Groves fawn all over what he very much still considered his.

He needed to get Jack away from them, but how? He would never win in a duel against Barbossa, not a fair one anyway. He needed to wait and bid his time. Surely the opportunity would present itself soon enough.

 

**

 

                They arrived back at the island without further delay and made their way back up to the lighthouse by lantern light, as clouds had covered the moon by then, dousing its glow for the moment. A sort of anxious excitement hummed through the three men as they entered the house, though for the moment none of them openly expressed it.

                Shandy was asleep in bed and hadn’t stirred at their arrival. It was just as well; the hour was late and the pirates had questions that needed answered. The cabin boy could be brought up to speed in the morning when they were all more rested.

                Jack lead Carina up the stairs towards the boy’s bedroom, “There’s another bed in there, you’re welcome to take it as your own. Mind you don’t wake the lad, he’s frightfully talkative.” He said to her. She nodded, looking guarded and vaguely nervous.

                Sparrow sighed and turned to her directly, “No one will harm you here, lass. On my honor as a pirate.”

                A little smirk appeared at the corner of her lips. “Doesn’t that sentence seem somewhat contradictory?”

                He frowned and flicked her forehead, making her gasp and wince. “I could put you in the loft if you’d prefer it. Sleepin’ with the cow and the chickens.”

                She said nothing in retort so he left it at that, returning to the lower floor, where Hector and Groves had settled themselves at the table in front of the fire. “Enough with the suspense, Sparrow. What is it ye brought the lass here for? The cabin boy be enough of a liability as it is, ye can’t go about picking up every homeless ragamuffin ye come across.”

                “Ah, but this little imp is more than what she seems. Scarfield and his brutes want to hang her for witchcraft.”

                “Is that something so unusual? Scarfield looks for any excuse to use the noose.”

                “Funny thing is, I think there’s a bit more truth to those accusations than she lets on. She seemed to know about the Blood Moon and the ‘ill-omen’ our resident witch spoke about earlier. And this,” he opened his shirt to expose the reopened wound. “Seemed familiar to her.”

                Both men gave him an uneasy, sobering gaze. But Jack turned his attentions to Groves then, “But that will keep for now. For the moment, there is a much more pressing issue at hand.” He plopped himself down close to the Lieutenant, studying him intently. “You made a deal with a mermaid.”

                Groves flushed slightly. “I…I wouldn’t call it a _deal_ exactly, Jack.”

                “I know how it works, luv, call it what you like. It was that waif wasn’t it, the one Blackbeard took for his ritual? She used her gifts to change you, brought you back from the beyond, eh?”

                Groves nodded, “Yes, I owe Syrena a great debt. One I hope I can one day repay.”

                “Oh you will, luv, rest assured. No gift like this comes without a price.” He put his hand on the man’s knee, “So the stories they were telling in the tavern were true. You came all this way, searching for us, moving from ship to ship, port to port, posing as a shipwrecked sailor…it’s a bit of genius, if I do say so myself.”

                “I had to find you again,” Groves nodded, then blushed faintly and looked back to Barbossa, gripping his hand in his. “I’m relieved to find you both well. I heard many tales of my own, in regards to the pair of you, reeking havoc on the high seas and becoming the absolute scourge of the Caribbean Sea. Naval vessels travel with more caution than ever before, I can tell you that much. They fear your names.”

                Both Jack and Barbossa smiled proudly at this but the moment passed quickly as Groves looked back to Jack. “Jack...there is something I have to tell you. On my way here, I saw something other worldly and terrifying. There is something on the water, hunting you. It is not of the living world.”

                “What did you see?” Barbossa asked, growing tense as he looked between his two lovers.

                “A ship, crewed by wraiths emerged from a cursed place. I did not see everything, but he spoke another passing sailor I encountered, and seemed very interested to know where he could find you.”

                Jack stiffened, but did not immediately appeared frightened by this. “And this, ‘wraith’, you speak of…what did he call himself?”

                “He was a Spaniard…Salazar, I believe the name was.”

                “It can’t be.” Hector replied then, more harshly than he meant to. “That ghoul has been dead nearly thirty years. The ship, the crew, all of it lost after the battle, taken down to the Locker and Jones, ne’re be heard from again. Ye must be mistaken, my love.”

                “It would be difficult to mistake something as grim as this.”

                Jack still hadn’t spoken. He sat there in his chair, numb and staring, the day’s events swirling in his head, the pieces falling slowly into place. Captain Salazar…suddenly Jack felt very small, very alone. He was no longer the feared, clever and renowned pirate whose name was spread far and wide across the seven seas; instead he was a young man, on his father’s ship, watching as other pirates were murdered and destroyed pitilessly around him, fighting to survive against a merciless killer sent from the Spanish Main to rid the world of their kind forever.

                He had encountered Salazar himself for only a few short moments as their ships had passed each other, and as Jack taunted him from across the water, egging the man on, drawing him into a trap. A trap that even he didn’t expect to work.

                But even though they had only seen each other closely for that brief time, Jack remembered the man’s face all too well. The dark hair, the strong jaw, the hooked nose, his spotless uniform. The coldness in his eyes, even as he looked on at him in surprise.

                “Jack?”

                Both Hector and Groves were in front of him, seeming to steady him. “It’s alright, luv. Have a swig of this, it’ll put you right.” Hector held out a bottle of rum, and Jack snatched it and took a hefty drink from it, until he felt the chill in his skin begin to fade. He nodded in thanks and then stood up, beginning to pace the floor as he usually did when he was restless and vexed.

                “Well…the ghost of a nefarious pirate hunter is out on the water, searching for me. That’s…not so terrible. I mean, dead is dead, and a ghost is just that. They don’t hold much in the way of tangibility in this world, so what’s there to fear, really?”

                He knew he was rambling, trying to make himself believe that the situation wasn’t as bleak as it was. Barbossa shook his head, “A vengeful spirit be nothing to laugh at. But if it indeed is Salazar, then ye have one small saving grace. What the sea claims belongs to it, and so he cannot step on land. At least for the moment, we’re safe here.”

                Groves looked relieved at this, but not Jack. Instead he looked at Barbossa a bit more closely, suspecting something. The two eyed each other for a moment, saying nothing, until at last Jack looked away and drank a bit more from the bottle, quickly banishing whatever bit of soberness had started to creep back over him. “So that’s it then. Stick to land, stay out of harms way, take up roots and…ne’re set sail again.”

                “No one said that,”

                “But yer thinkin’ it.”

                Hector grew tired of this quickly and pulled the man to him so that he could look him in the eyes, holding his wrist tightly. “Come what may, Sparrow, I’m at your side. Whether that be on a deck of a ship or on this spit of rock. And no devil of land or sea will ever take you from me again without dragging me down to the depths first. Do you understand me?”

                Jack softened at this and nodded, letting Hector kiss him and pull him into a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around him, and looked over his shoulder, looking at Groves as the man watched them with a tender sort of wistfulness. Jack relented, kissing Hector’s cheek and clearing his throat, “Well mates, here we are wallowing in all this doom and gloom when we should be _celebrating!_ ”

                He reached over and grabbed Groves up and pulled him close to the pair of them. “Look at us, eh? Trio of right unstoppable scallywags we are, unmatched in our skills and audacity, fearless and of course, extremely handsome. What have we to fear then, eh!? We have a fleet of ships at our disposal, a bonified sea witch on our side—and that’s to say nothing of holding the favor of the sea goddess herself! And now, dear, dear Theodore…with your newfound aquatic abilities…I dare say we are more than capable of handling one ghost ship. Savvy?”

                His lovers laughed and nodded, relieved to see Jack’s familiar tenacity resurface. Groves looked at Hector happily and the pair were immediately caught up in each other’s gaze, fingers entwining as they stood together.

                Jack saw this and bowed his head, slipping away from their arms. “I think I’ll check on Maisy…make sure she hasn’t gotten out again.”

                “That ruddy cow can manage herself until morning.” Hector replied, trying to pluck him back but Sparrow evaded his grasp.

                “She doesn’t like storms, and no, frankly the poor stupid thing can’t. But never fear, I shall return shortly.” He gave Hector a knowing look, as if to encourage him to take his time with Groves. Barbossa gave him a grateful look, and Jack dawned his hat and coat again and slunk out the front door, bottle of rum in hand.

                They watched until the door closed behind him, and then the redhead looked to the younger Lieutenant again. There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to know, so many things he _needed_ to know, but they were all getting lost on the way to his lips until finally he just wrapped his arms around the man and mumbled; “Forgive me.”

                “What?”

                “I should have fought harder for you. I should have gone back for you. I abandoned you in that place—“ his voice was choked, and as much as he gritted his teeth and tried to swallow the growing burn in the back of his throat, he could not stop the tears from coming.

                Groves kissed him and held him fast, “No, no, Hector. There is nothing to forgive.” He brushed away the wetness from the corner of the man’s eyes and smiled at him. “I love you.”

                “And I you.” He kissed the man’s palm and then looked around firelit room, watching the long shadows as the danced in the corners. “Sorry I am to have you find me this way, I admit.”

                “Why is that?” Groves asked, looking about the house. “You seem comfortable enough here.”

                “Aye, but it’s no life for men like Jack and I. We’re meant to roam, to sail. The sea calls us, always. But things…have a way of going of course, sometimes without yer noticin’.” His brow furrowed, looking off towards the door where Jack had vanished.

                “I consider it fortuitous,” Groves declared then, “It’s true what you said about safety on land. You and Jack are exactly where you need to be. I fear what this Salazar will do should he find Jack…never have a I felt such malice and wickedness.”

                “Be thankful ye did not know the man in life, he was no better. Ne’re such a force have pirates faced that was so relentless. Not even from the likes of Beckett.”

                “You knew him too then?”

                “Knew be too strong a word. We engaged him once in battle, his very last. He’d been tracking our ship for miles, and when other members of the Brethren attempted to interviene they were readily destroyed. Captain Teague, Keeper of the Code, rallied the remaining members of the court and attempted to make a last stand against Salazar. In the end, our ship remained the only survivor. Were it not for Jack’s clever thinking, I doubt either of us would be standing here.”

                Groves nodded mutely, taking in the new details of the events. But as he mused upon this, he looked at Hector’s face in the firelight, and saw its weary lines and the distance in his gaze. “The sea feels a dangerous place these days. I’ve been wracking my brains for months trying to figure out a way to stave off whatever unholy forces have been gathering, but I’m only one man and mortal despite everything.”

                “You’ve been trying to protect Jack.”

                “Aye. But I should know better than to try to cage Jack Sparrow, whatever my intentions. Of all the things he loves in the world, freedom be the highest, even over m’self. I’ve denied him that.” He thought about the earlier argument and Jack’s words continued to bite at him. He was indeed a selfish man.

                He looked to Groves and noticed the way he was looking back at him, and tried to hide his growing concerns with a quick smile and another kiss. “You look tired, m’luv. I venture to guess that you’ve swum a good deal of the way here, eh?”

                Groves nodded, then thought back to Bill. “Actually there was a man who assisted in bringing me to port, but I fear I lost track of him. I do hope he’s alright.”

                “Ne’re mind it now. Come to bed.”

                “What about Jack?”

                “He’ll be in when he’s ready and not a moment before. Come, I’ll sleep better with you close.” He began to pull him towards the bedroom, then paused. “Ye can stay on land this long…can’t ye?”

                Groves chuckled and kissed him affectionately, “Not to worry, darling. I’m not going to dissolve into seafoam, I assure you.”

 

**

 

                The night was waning on, and in only a few short hours, Jack would see the dawn over the horizon. He sat with his feet in the sand on the beach, the bottle of rum beside him completely empty. He’d been trying to make all these new revelations make sense in his head for the past few hours, but the whole thing was still a bit foggy. What he could conclude was that indeed, there was some renewed curse upon the water that seemed to be following his shadow, biding its time. He tried to remember what it was Bill was trying to tell him back in the tavern; something about Will becoming cursed. He wondered vaguely if that had anything to do with Salazar’s sudden reemergence after such a long time. Perhaps the Dutchman’s curse, being a design of Calypso herself, was somehow tied to the other curses of those condemned by the sea.

                And even if it was so…what was he going to do about it?

                He thought about Carina’s odd words in the jail. Something about a sparrow flying over a bloody sea. Jack didn’t like the sound of that at all. He reached inside his coat and found another bottle, this one containing his beloved ship and looked at it longingly, holding it up against the backdrop of the ocean. Why did his world suddenly feel so small?

                The surf rushed up the shore and pulled the sand from beneath his feet. He glanced further down the beach and spotted Shansa’s hovel, noticing a small trail of smoke drifting from the natural chimney made from the stones in the side of the dune. He knew this meant she was awake, but decided not to disturb her. He wasn’t sure he could take anymore cryptic messages or bad news that evening.

                He stood, with some difficulty and turned his eyes back towards the lighthouse, watching the tall tower as the fire burned inside it, reflecting the gleam out onto the water. It made him realize, that despite whatever dangerous and perils were on the horizon, that he did not have to face them alone.

                He started back up the path that lead towards the top of the cliff, when a sudden movement along the dunes caught his eye. Jack paused nervously, squinting in the dark along the beach to see what the movement was, only to spy Bootstrap, dragging a small boat ashore.

                “Bill!” he called, half confused, half vexed by his abrupt appearance, looking around as if to assure himself that he wasn’t the only one seeing the man. But then of course, he recalled that he was indeed alone on the beach. He moved towards his old shipmate, tucking the cursed bottle containing _The Black Pearl_ safely away inside his coat again. “Oy! Turner!”

                Bill turned on him with surprise, reaching instinctively for his weapon and Jack had to take a careful step back to avoid it. “Steady mate! S’only me.”

                Bootstrap nodded slowly, casting suspicious glances up towards the cliff where he could see the lighthouse. “Where are the others?”

                “Why do you assume there are others?”

                “Don’t be coy with me Jack. You’ve already told me you’re still with Barbossa. So where is the sea dog, at any rate?”

                “Never you mind where he is,” Jack replied, reaching for the pistol he kept in his belt and raising it to Bill, much to the other man’s surprise. “I’ve some questions, Bill. A lot of questions, actually. The Dutchman’s curse comes only to those who neglect their duties as Captain, or misuse their power. Which of these crimes do you believe dear William has committed?”

                Bootstrap did not say anything in response to this, and Jack could not quite read the expression in his eyes, though it was clear there was misery there. “Please don’t ask me that.”

                Sparrow raised a brow and cocked his head, “Oh come now, Bill. You and I have never had any secrets between us. Why start now?” Still, Bootstrap did not answer and Jack waved the gun at him to get his attention.  “Oy, now’s not the time to be withholding. I’ve had a very long and trying day and I just want some bloody answers!”

                There came a noise from up the hill, and Jack recognized it as Groves’ voice calling to him. He lowered his weapon, which he hadn’t intended to fire anyway, and stepped backward into view, surprised to see him coming down the path.

                “Is everything alright?” Groves asked when he came a bit closer, and Sparrow shrugged, glancing back towards where Bill had been standing, only to find him utterly vanished. He blinked in confusion for several minutes, wondering if Bill had actually been there at all or if he was still drunk, until Groves put his hand on his arm.

                “Jack?”

                “Sorry, luv. Distracted. Old ghosts, you know how it is.” He gave him another of his warm, winning smirks and looked him up and down, immediately heartened to be standing with him again. “I thought certain you’d be suitably occupied for the evening.”

                “You needn’t have run off like that. I’ve been just as anxious to see you as I have Hector.”

                Jack scoffed quietly and patted his arm. “That’s kind of you, luv. It’s a shame we didn’t get to know each other better in our little time together, but I did enjoy it. Well, once you loosened up a bit.”

                Theodore chuckled at this, “Yes, well. I suppose I did come on a bit strongly.”

                “Funny thing isn’t it, what love does to a man? Funnier still that we both fell for one of the most sour, cantankerous old sea dogs to ever sail.” They laughed together and Jack almost blushed when Groves toyed with the end of one of his braids. “But we have an understanding. You’re in love with Barbossa and so am I. I’ll not stand in your way if you don’t—“

                Groves pulled him in and kissed him, much to Jack’s surprise as this kiss was a bit more passionate and lustful than their kiss outside the fort. “Come up to the house. Hector’s waiting.”

                Jack felt an electric shiver go through him at the way the taller man spoke into the shell of his ear, feeling an instant warmth in his guts and a fresh rush of blood to his thighs and groin.

                “Oh. I see.” He grinned and locked arms with the other man and together they climbed up the rocky path towards the house in the dark. Once inside, Jack was certain to latch and lock the door behind them, and after they were certain the fire was out in the hearth, Jack lead Groves to the bedroom.

                He was very much surprised to find Hector still awake, lying naked in bed, doing very little to cover himself, as if he had been expecting them. Jack almost laughed because this was not Hector’s usual form of seduction. His old shipmate was far more direct about things, teasing was something he had only come to appreciate recently. Foreplay had always been Jack’s strong suit.

                Groves moved Jack’s thick hair aside so that he could kiss his neck and Jack went immediately rigid, smiling as he drew the other man in closer. He pulled Jack out his coat and vest, backing him towards the bed as he did so, until Hector hooked his fingers into the best around Sparrow’s waist and pulled him down into the bed, turning him so he could kiss him.

                Theodore watched the two of them, shedding his own clothing and climbing tentatively onto the bed with the pair, running his hand along Jack’s thigh while leaning over to bite at Hector’s shoulder. He was content just to be with the pair of them again, even if he needed to take a step back. But that was not going to be the case this evening apparently, as both Hector and Jack turned then to look at him with devilish glee before pulling him between them. The older pirate went at once for his lips, while Jack attached his lips to his neck and moved around his collar to the nape of his neck and slowly down his spine.

                Groves groaned into Hector’s mouth, making the other man smile, and tried to pull both men closer to him. “Anxious are ye, luv?” Hector chuckled letting him come up for air as he continued to whimper and shudder as Jack worked his way lower down his back, hands on his hips, thighs and ass. “Not fully satisfied with our earlier tussle?”

                Jack paused and looked up in surprise. “What?! You two…no fair!” he whined.

                “Quit yer squaking,” Hector chided playfully, “It’s not our fault ye went and got yerself arrested.”

                Jack frowned and stuck his tongue out at the man, only to have Hector grab his hand and move it between Theodore’s thighs, earning another happy gasp from him. “Don’t stop in the middle like that.”

                Jack relented and went back to exploring the man’s skin while his fingers mingled with Hector’s across their mutual partner’s length, quickly bringing more gasps and moans from him in response to the heavy stimulation.

                Hector kissed his way down Grove’s taught neck, tasting sea-salt on his skin, feeling his pulse underneath. It all still felt so surreal to him, he was almost afraid to trust it. But he also couldn’t help himself. He pushed himself closer to the man so that he could grip both of them in his fist, making Groves mewl at the added heat and friction. With it being so soon after their last encounter, Hector knew it was going to take longer to reach an end. Not that he minded. Jack teased them both for a few minutes, but quickly found a better use for his hands, moving back down the Englishman’s thighs and then beneath him, spreading his legs a little wider to get at his entrance.

                Theodore’s eyes went wide and he craned his neck, trying to look back at Sparrow, who just smiled at him from over his shoulder. “Relax, luv, I know what I’m doing.”

                The other man’s face was bright red as he felt Jack’s fingers move against him, further enflaming his nerves as making him harder still in Hector’s hand, threatening to erupt from the teasing alone. Jack was pleased to find that the tight ring of muscle was still pliant from before and therefore it took little lubrication for him to push a finger inside him. All the same, Groves arched and cried out, reaching back to latch onto Sparrow’s arm.  “Ahh! Oh, Jack!”

                “I forgot you were so sensitive,” Jack teased, nipping at the man’s shoulder while his fingers deeper into him, working the tips against the rough spot of sensitive nerves that made his legs tense and his cock pulse.

                “Nnngh! Oh gods! _Gods!_ Please! Please, I don’t think I—“

                Hector turned his head and kissed him hard and deep to silence him, working them both harshly as Jack continued move in and out of him rhythmically with his fingers. Groves was shaking and sweating between them, but neither gave him any reprieve until Jack felt the tell-tale signs of orgasm building as the man clenched hard around and his thighs went tense even as his hips bucked forward hard. Barbossa sighed as he felt the man quiver harshly, splattering across his hand and his chest and kept moving his hand until he was certain the man was entirely spent.

                While Groves laid incapacitated between them, a post-climax shivering mess that could nothing more than breathe and groan softly, his partners cleaned their hands and settled back beside him.

                “Oh Hector, I think we might have over done it.” Jack teased.

                “Perhaps. Are ye alright, luv?”

                “You’re both incorrigible.” Groves mumbled. The pirates chuckled and pulled the blankets around themselves, the three of them rather snug in the bed that forced them to make the best of the space they had.

                The very long and eventful day was finally catching up to Captain Sparrow and though he hadn’t had any release of his own during this last encounter, he found himself content to wait. He was so exhausted, and now that he knew the people he held dearest were safe and close, he felt he could let everything else go for a bit.

                He started to drift off, glancing up at Barbossa in the dark to find the ginger haired man propped against the pillows, just watching the pair of them in silence. Jack fumbled and found his hand. “Mate, go to sleep. There’s only a few hours until light, and he’s safe.”

                Hector’s fingers squeezed his and he looked at him seriously. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

                Sparrow’s tired and bloodshot eyes opened a bit wider at this. It was not like Hector to apologize for something, at least, not directly. So Jack said nothing and just laced his fingers with Hector’s across Theodore’s torso, and finally let himself fall asleep.

 

***


	6. Chapter 6

***

               

Morning did arrive, clear and bright. It was almost as if the heavy shroud of the night before had vanished utterly like a bad dream. Shandy woke with some surprise to find a new guest in the attic room that had once belonged only to himself.

He quietly crept out of his bed and moved towards her, stopping a few inches from the foot of her bed, watching her with some curiosity. Her dark red-brown hair fell in thick curls all around her face, and she slept balled up tightly, half clutching something in her arms. Cautiously, he poked at her foot, which was sticking out from beneath the blanket. The faint touch was enough to send the young woman springing awake, popping up from the mattress like a jack-in-the-box and making Shandy shout in spite of himself.

“What are ya doing!?” she barked, large blue eyes wide and startled, brows furrowed and her lips screwed up in an anxious, indignant frown.

The cabin boy stammered for a moment, then scratched the back of his sun-burned neck. “I-uh-excuse _me_ , but _you’re_ the one who’s in _my_ room. Who are you?”

Carina slowly untensed, sweeping the blankets away from her and standing quickly, slipping her feet back into her worn out shoes and combing her wild hair away from her face. “Sorry. You scared me. Mr. Sparrow told me to stay here last night.”

“Oh. Well, if Captain Jack says it’s alright…” he fixed her with a stern look, forgetting is awkwardness then. “You didn’t answer the question. Who are you?”

“Carina Smyth,” she replied, “Though it’s rather rude of you to demand my name before introducing yourself.”

“Pirates aren’t exactly worried about rudeness.” He answered with a small smirk.

“Are you a pirate?” the girl asked, looking him over. “You don’t look it.”

He bristled, “Now who’s being rude?”

Carina moved around the attic room, taking in its shape and size and minimal trappings and trimmings, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. “Have you got anything to eat?” this inquiry was a bit softer, and Shandy recognized the familiar uncertainty in it.

He deflated with a defeated sigh and moved past her towards the stairs that lead down through the tower to the lower level of the house. “Follow me. There’s food in the cupboards. Sure the Captains won’t mind.”

“You live here with them?”

“You have eyes don’t you?” he retorted, and she stiffened, holding herself a bit straighter as she followed him down the winding stairs.

“Is one of them your father?”

“I haven’t got a father.”

“Oh.” She said. “Neither do I. That is to say, certainly I _had_ a father. But I’ve never met him. My mother used to tell me about him sometimes.”

“That’s nice. My mum died.”

                “I’m sorry to hear that.”

                Shandy shrugged. “Don’t be, I’m sure she wasn’t.” They crept quietly past the closed door of the pirate’s bed chamber and into the main part of the house, where Shandy immediately began rummaging through the cupboards and collecting whatever goods he could that might appease the girl’s appetite.

                “Why’d Captain Jack bring you here?”

                “I have no idea,” Carina muttered, sitting herself down on the stool next to the fire, setting her book aside and taking up the fireplace poker to stoke the coals before lighting a match. “I told him I could manage on my own. I suppose he didn’t believe me.”

                “If the Captain brought you here, you must have something he wants.” Shandy replied.

                “What does that mean?”

                “I mean, you must be of use. Are you any good at sailing?”

                “No. I’ve never been out on the ocean, actually. Not since I was very small. I traveled here from Tortuga.”

                “Hmm. Must be something else then.”

                Neither of the two said anything else as the boy plopped down a heap full of apples, a loaf of crusty bread, salted meat and some hardtack on the table and the two dug in. The first thing Shandy noticed was that Carina didn’t eat like any “proper lady” he’d ever met. She at like him, quick and covetous, even when he knew he no longer had to fight for food.

                “I like your dress.” He fumbled, lacking for anything else to make polite conversation about.

                She finally gave him a smile. “Thank you. I like your…posture.”

                He nodded, then looked away, stuffing his face again, not wanting to admit he had no idea what the word “posture” meant.  After awhile he glanced over at her again; “Captains will be up soon. We should make ourselves scarce.”

                “Why?”

                “Captain Barbossa explained to me once as…’needing time to settle’. Which is his way of saying he and Captain Jack are hung over and sore and in a right foul mood when they wake up. And usually one of them’s naked. Captain Jack seems to misplace his pants a lot.”

                Carina stood up hurriedly, brushing the crumbs off her dress. “Why don’t you show me around? Outside. Away from…that.”

                “Good idea.”

 

**

 

                Meanwhile, in the bedroom, in the quiet that filled the house once the children had departed, the three sailors were still clinging to sleep. They were curled in a tangle of limbs on the small bed, a mesh of warm bodies with hardly a full set of clothes between the three of them, pressed close together in the dark. Groves began to stir first, finding himself feeling unusually warm, not to mention a bit cramped. As his full awareness came back, all the post coital soreness along with it, he took stock of the two men he was pressed between.

                Hector was turned away, pressed against the wall, face in the crook of his arm, breathing deep and slow, undisturbed by his movement. Theodore nuzzled the ginger haired man’s neck and kissed his skin, but didn’t wake him. He ran his fingers down along the faded scars that crisscrossed Barbossa’s back until he heard Jack begin to stir behind him.

                He rolled, as carefully as he could to face the other man, who seemed to be caught in a restless dream as he stretched and muttered in his sleep, despite having nowhere to go. Groves chuckled and pulled him in closer to him, curling around him in hopes of soothing him. In doing so he realized just how much smaller Jack was than himself and was struck that he hadn’t noticed before. He supposed that was partially because of Jack’s “larger than life” aura that often made him seem, well, just that. It was somewhat endearing to find him in this raw, almost vulnerable state.

                He kissed his cheeks and forehead and then pulled away when Jack came awake, one hand flattening against his chest.

                “I’m sorry,” Groves whispered hurriedly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

                Jack hmm sleepily, draping an arm over his shoulder and toying with the little knot of hair at the back of his head. “Don’t be sorry, luv. It’s quite a pleasant way to greet the day, all things considered.” He leaned up and nibbled at his throat warmly. “Well rested, I hope?”

                Groves nodded and chuckled again at Jack’s flirtatiousness, coiling around him and leaning down to kiss him again. Sparrow curled around him happily, always hungry for affection and attention. Hence he was not at all bothered when Groves moved his hand down his chest and beneath the covers, fingers gliding down Jack’s stomach and moving lower. Jack smiled against his lips and pushed himself up against him, and in return Groves squeezed his hip and thigh before moving below his naval before brushing his fingers over Jack’s half-hard erection. This elicited a small moan from Jack, and Theodore pulled back from their kiss, looking down at him with a hungry gaze.

                “Jack, I want you.”

                Sparrow smirked at him coyly, pressed against the sheets as he man leaned over him. “I’m afraid that’s a bit obvious, luv.”

                Groves slid his arms up Jack’s, lacing his fingers with his and pinned them above the dark skinned man’s head. “You’ve been generous with me, but I want to return the favor. I want to know what you feel like, Jack.” He nudged himself between Jack’s legs and leaned closer over him so that they were almost flush together, and Jack could feel how hard the other man was. “Please, allow me this.”

                Jack’s face flushed dark and he suddenly felt very hot all over, practically reduced to a puddle at Grove’s words. Never in his life would he have imagined such things coming from the lips of this previously stuffed shirt, straight-laced naval officer.  “Well…” he stammered, heart hammering his chest and breath coming a little too quickly, “when you put it that way luv…how can I resist?”

                Groves grinned and leaned down to kiss him again, more passionately this time, finding that he did enjoy the chance to take the lead and make Jack’s knees go weak. But as he broke away he glanced at the sleeping body still next to theirs, who had remained undisturbed. “Should we wake him?”

                Jack shook his head, “Let ‘im rest. First time in months he’s gone without a nightmare.”

                Theodore nodded in understanding, and brushed a finger along Jack’s lips in a soft, teasing way. “Then I suggest you stay quiet. Can you do that, Captain Sparrow?”

                Jack’s hips twitched and arched to meet Groves’, growing more excited by every word that was coming from the man’s lips. But neither of them said anything else as the Englishman bowed his head, kissing Jack’s neck softly and moving down to his collarbone and chest, before continuing to slide further down beneath the sheets.

                Sparrow watched, reaching back to grasp the headboard with one hand while the other buried itself in the soft waves of his lover’s dark hair. Groves knelt between Jack’s legs, kissing him and licking him teasingly, enjoying watching Jack squirm and attempt to stay silent when it was clear he wanted nothing more than to express his desires verbally and loudly.

                Groves had not been given the chance to pleasure Jack, or even Hector like this and he wanted to take his time, learn what it was his far more experienced lover liked before trying more. Keeping Jack quiet was simply a bit of fun that he hadn’t expected, but now that he could see the way it effected the man he would have to make excuses to do so again.

                He loved the feel of Jack’s taught stomach muscles under his hands, and how tense his thighs were as his hips swayed up to greet his mouth, never too harshly. It surprised Groves how restrained Jack was. He had somehow expected Jack to be rougher, more demanding and greedy when it came to being pleasured. But that was the imagined Jack Sparrow, the one created in his mind by rumors and stories with only half-truths to them.

                The real Jack was very different; and Groves wouldn’t change him for the world.

                He took the man in deeper, sucking hard and moving a hand underneath him, fingers teasing him in the same manner Jack had teased him the night before. Sparrow jolted, leaning forward with his mouth open, tightening his grip on Theodore’s hair a bit more harshly as he rasped for air. Groves looked up, worried he’d overstepped himself or somehow hurt Jack.

                “Theodore, darling,” Jack panted, grabbing hold of the man and pulling him back up to face level, though he wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, “if you’re going to fuck me, then you better well do it before I explode.”

                Groves kissed him hard as he hoisted the man’s hips higher to allow him more access and moved his hand between them again so he could stretch Jack. The pirate remained silent through all this as best he could, the only sound being his heavy breathing and vague mewls of both pain and excitement.  

                The larger man rubbed against him, trying to go slow, but Jack was squirming, trying to draw him in. So Groves gave him what he wanted, swinging his hips forward in a hard thrust that finally pushed through the last little bit of resistance in Jack’s muscles. He tossed his head back, crying out in spite of himself as it had been some time since he’d done anything like this in the raw.  Jack wrapped himself tight around him as Groves pulled back and rocked forward again, sinking them both deeper into the mattress.

                “Oh God, _Jack_ …”

                Breathless and needing something to cling to, Jack’s hand clawed at the sheets while the other left light red scratches down the former Lieutenant’s skin. But when he opened his eyes he found Barbossa staring lazily back at him from the other corner of the bed with a sly grin on his face, framed by his red mustache.

                “Insatiable as ever, I see.”

                Groves looked up in surprise then as well, but Hector shook his head and waved them on, “Oh please, gents, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying the show.”

                Groves made to pull away, much to Jack’s utter dismay, but Barbossa stopped him, putting a hand on his back to keep him in place. “Don’t keep him waiting, luv. I doubt he could stand much more teasin’.” 

                He looked slyly back at Jack who just whimpered and squirmed until Groves began to move again, driving a bit harder and faster into him until the whines turned into deep moans and heavy breathing with no words.

                Barbossa watched for a bit longer before reaching for the shelf that was just above the headboard of the bed and pulling down another vile of oil, kept on hand for the lamps and of course instances such as these. He maneuvered himself behind Groves kissing down his neck and back and helping to drive and direct the thrust of his hips into Jack, grinning when he felt Theodore shake with excitement in result, and seeing that Jack was just a quivering, needy mess beneath them both.

                “Don’t stop, he’s almost there,” Hector encouraged, moving his hand down between the Lieutenant’s legs, teasing him lightly. Groves stiffened and shivered at once, crying out in spite of himself at this new stimulation, looking back at Hector over his shoulder. “Sir!”

                “Hush. Focus on Jack, I’ll take care of ye. That’s an order, understand?”

                Groves just nodded, bent a little further over Jack, dragging his arms above his head again, pinning them there as he leaned down to lick and bite his chest. Jack was arching and groaning in result, obviously reveling in the throes of lust.

                Hector did not waste time on teasing, as both his lovers were already more than warmed up and eager for more. He slicked himself thoroughly before balancing himself on his remaining knee before grabbing Groves’ hips and thrusting inside him, finding himself sheathed entirely with little effort.

                The act produced a violent tremor from Groves, who shouted and groaned, not with pain but with the sudden abrupt change in weight and pressure, not to mention a completely separate and equally intense stimulation. Hector put an arm around him to brace him, leaving a love bite on his shoulder. “Steady lad, we’ve got you. Me balance ain’t exactly what it used to be, can you handle us both?”

                Groves slowly nodded, adjusting to the feeling. He looked down at Jack, who was flushed and gasping, waiting for him to move, completely at his mercy and felt Hector’s hands still guiding his hips to keep some movement between them.

                He had a wicked idea then, knowing that with his more than human strength he was more than able to handle this. He rolled his hips backward into Hector, before then rolling forward into Jack, making both men gasp. “I think the better question is, can you two handle _me_?”

                It all became a blur of movement after a time, the three jarring back and forth together, rising and falling, a chorus of harsh breaths and needy moans between the three of them as the bedframe shook violently.

                Predictably, Jack was undone first, and the intensity of the orgasm that struck him made him shake violently, though his voice was completely stolen. Groves pulled out of him slowly and leaned over him to stem the uncontrolled tremors as he started to come down. “Steady, steady…darling, are you alright?”

                Jack nodded mutely, loose hair hanging in his face, only able to breathe for the moment, which was certainly a sign that Groves had more than satisfied him.

                “He’s fine,” Hector grunted behind him, dragging Groves back and surprising him by pinning him down to the mattress next to Sparrow’s shivering figure while he leaned over him more completely. “But you’re far from done.”

                Groves groaned happily, hiding his face in the blankets as Barbossa took him roughly from behind, and he gratefully gave over to it, loving every second.

                Jack eventually regained enough energy to open his eyes and watched with a lazy, warm sense of satisfaction as Groves hit his own threshold and spilled with a long shaking groan across the sheets. Hector held him tight and refused to stop, riding out the orgasm and drawing more harsh breaths from the man beneath him.

                And at this, Jack saw an opening to get the upper hand on his usually dominant lover. He sprung up, quiet unexpectedly beside Hector, taking hold of him to help him balance better and began roughly kissing his neck, raking his hands across his chest and back.

                “Ahhh, Jack!” he hissed, taking one hand and knotted it into Jack’s thick braids, pressing him harder against him and urging him to bite harder, which Sparrow did leaving little purple and red wounds on his freckled skin.

                A few minutes of the extra attention and stimulation and Hector’s eyes rolled back and he inhaled sharply, and Groves shivered a bit more feeling the man twitch and release inside him. The moment the intensity passed, Hector sagged backwards, and Jack caught him and brought him down carefully onto the bed, which was now in utter ruin.

                The three of them lay there, sweating, bitten, scratched and thoroughly sated and exhausted, and it was Jack who started to laugh softly. “Well…I don’t know about you gents…but I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”

                Giving both Groves and Hector a kiss, he wiggled free from the coil of bodies, hopped onto the floor and found his missing clothing, tugging it on clumsily but insistently. “I’ll go start breakfast, shall I?”

                Both Hector and Groves stared at him, the younger man looking on in amazement. “Aren’t you…tired, Jack? A minute ago you could barely breathe.”

                “Yes, and thank you for that.” Jack answered, blowing him a kiss. “Not often a romp gets me as weak-kneed as that—I’m impressed.” He fumbled a little with said-same weak knees as he made for the door. “Don’t be too long, lads.”

                Theodore turned to his ginger-haired lover, still clearly in disbelief. “Is he always like this after—?”

                “Ye should have seen ‘im when we were young and impetuous,” Barbossa sighed. “I could bed him all night long, and he’d still spring up the next morning fresh as a bleedin’ daisy, leaving me with the bruising and the legs that won’t work.” Still he smiled as he said this and Groves moved towards him and laid on his chest, nuzzling him warmly.

                “I suppose I have a lot to live up to.”

                “Nonsense. Yer an entirely different matter, and I wouldn’t change that fer anything. Ye think I could really handle _two_ Jack Sparrows? I’d rightly be dead.” He laughed.

                Groves kissed the fresh love bites on his skin and worked his way up to his lips. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

                “Help me up would be a start,” he grunted, and Groves did so, feeling his own energy returning quickly. Now that he was no longer completely human he found that even strenuous tasks could rarely tired him out.

                He tugged Hector to the edge of the bed and handed him his crutch, watching as the other man hoisted himself off the bed and stood, dragging the sheet around his waist to cover some of his nakedness. “I need a wash. There’s a well with fresh water if ye feel like-wise inclined.”

                Groves flushed faintly and then Hector shook his head, “Right, sorry. I’m not as well versed in the ways of mermen. Would you… _change_ if ye were to bathe?”

                “In fresh water? Perhaps not, I’ve not tried. But I know that if I’m fully submerged in sea-water I will indeed return to my new form.”

                “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

                “Not at all, though there is a good deal of pressure and heat in my muscles as things are…rearranged, I suppose.” It sounded somewhat grotesque as he attempted to explain it.

                Hector shuddered faintly at the idea, but Groves gave him assuring smile. “Do you require any help?”

                “Oh, I can manage fine on my own.”

                “Is that so?” the brown eyed man quipped, his tone slightly shocked and bordering on scolding. “I remember a certain Admiral who used to _insist_ that he depended on my assistance to get in and out of the bath.”

                Hector cackled, “Ah well, perhaps that was just my way of getting to know you better.”

                “You absolute cad! You should be ashamed! I was so innocent, and you were so very…enticing and altogether foreign to me.”

                “Was I?”  He scratched his sweat slick and tussled hair, “Ye had dozens of courtiers ye could have wooed and bedded, yet it was my old husk that kept ye up at night?”

                “What can I say, sir? Except that I was captivated with you from the moment you arrived in London. I never stood a chance.” He kissed Hector’s cheek. “Enjoy your bath. I’ll go help Jack.”

 

                The wash tub, a large round one that would easily fit a grown man stood in a small separate room that lead off the kitchen, with a door leading out of the back of the house to where the well stood. But water had already been collected—as Hector was adamant about keeping fresh water for all purposes ready on hand. An obvious habit of a sea captain, though luckily now he had less fears of it going stagnant and slimy. There was a small hearth there as well, and he would pour the water into a cauldron to heat it before dumping it into the bath.

                Jack thought he was somewhat crazy to go through all this trouble, but Hector maintained the practice all the same. It was a remnant left over from his time in Singapore and the days of dwelling around hot springs and bath houses. Plus, it was just nice to be able to get as clean as he liked without having to worry about rationing water. Another luxury pirating didn’t often afford him.

                When everything was to his liking he sunk into the tub and sighed, dunking his head quickly to soak himself completely and then settling back. He had opened the windows to let the breeze in so that the steam would not become too stifling, and now he could hear the faint crash of the waves and the cries of gulls.

                He let himself relax a bit further, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the edge of the tub, thinking about nothing in particular besides how lucky he was and wondering what he’d ever done in his long and dubious life to deserve even the semblance of such contentment.

                Hector started to slip into a sort of doze, when he heard an odd, but quiet noise outside the window that made him crack open an eye. “Hmm? Shandy? That you lad?” he called.

                No answer, but there was more rustling.

                He frowned and sat up. “Shandy?”

                Still no answer. He sat very still for a moment, his eyes suddenly fixed on a shadow that appeared on the stone wall just outside the window. Silently as possible, Hector pulled himself out of the water, crawling on the ground with his pistol—which was always kept close—in his palm and edged towards the door. He lingered there a moment, certain he could hear breathing on the other side. Then, abruptly, he grabbed the knob and forced the door open, raising his weapon and pointing it out into alcove of the house that lead into the yard.

                But there was no one there. The only thing he’d managed to startle were a few birds. Panting, he looked around hurriedly, certain someone had been there. There were boot prints in the dirt and places where the long grass was obviously flattened. He hurried back inside and grabbed his clothing from the stool.

                “Jack! Groves! Someone’s pissing around outside, I’d lay odds it one of yer crew sneaking around. Jack! Do you hear me!?”

                No answer. Odd.

                Hector felt a sharp pinch of anxiety in his chest, knowing certainly that Sparrow must be able to hear him. Dressing himself hastily he hobbled into the other room, still shouting for someone, only to be grabbed abruptly from behind and feel the sudden intense pressure of a knife being buried in his back as a hand smothered itself over his face. He felt breath on his neck and the distinct mumble of Bootstrap Bill in his ear.

                “Forgot about your old friend Bootstrap, did ye? Not to worry. I’ll take good care of Jack for you.”

                Hector jolted awake with a screaming breath, slipping beneath the water in a panic and thrashing about for a moment before hauling himself up, wide eyed and coughing. Hands reached down and helped pluck him from the bath, patting him on the back as he spat and sputtered, placing a blanket around him as footsteps came rushing into the room.

                “Hector?!”

                Barbossa lifted his head, glancing first at the person beside him. Shansa gave him a calm, but concerned look. “A dream, Captain. Only a dream.”

                He nodded vaguely as Groves came more fully into the room, Jack at his elbow, the pair looking confused.

                “Who are you?”

                “Aye, Groves this be Shansa. She’s a friend of ours, ye’ve nothing to fear from her.” Barbossa explained, as Groves helped pull him to his feet, bath water dripping everywhere.

                “What happened?” Jack asked, glancing at Shansa, whom he was still getting accustomed to.

                “Fell asleep in the damn tub,” Hector muttered, cutting her off before she could answer. “I’m fine, just foolish. Go on, off with ye.”

                “But—“ Groves looked confused, not to mention concerned, but Hector remained resolute, and Jack caught his elbow, leading him back out the doorway.

                “Who is that woman?” the Lieutenant asked when he was alone with the captain then.

 Jack shook his head, “No one you need to concern yourself with, lad. Hector rescued her from a village mob some months ago, ever since then she’s been his resident soothsayer and sea witch.”

“Witch?”

“Aye.”

Groves looked vaguely nervous then and Jack patted him on the back, “Don’t get yer knickers in a twist. She’s harmless, mostly. Mind you don’t bother her rats though. Last time that happened…well, come to think of it, I never did see that crewman again…” He paused a moment and shrugged, “Ah well. Never liked him anyway.”

Barbossa emerged a moment later, fully dressed and his wet hair tied back, with Shansa beside him. “Apologies, lads. I suppose I was a bit flustered by my own stupidity.”

“I told you that tub was a bad idea.” Jack tutted, serving up what looked like stew of some kind.

“If ye had it yer way, Sparrow, you’d never bathe until ye were dunked in the ocean.” Hector retorted, giving him a playful smack in the back of the head, which made Jack wince and swat back at him. Groves loved watching them together like this, never imagining it could be like this for them. But he looked back at Shansa then, feeling her penetrating gaze.

He cleared his throat nervously and gave a little bow of his head, “Madame, I apologize for my rudeness. My name is Theodore Groves; former Lieutenant of the King’s Navy.”

He took her hand and kissed it, and Jack snorted faintly at his efforts.

“Yes, Mr. Groves. But it’s a different master you serve now. A much greater one than any mortal ruler of men. The same I myself serve.”

Groves felt a shiver go through him and he nervously retracted his hand. Jack leaned over his shoulder, “I think that means she knows you’re part fish.”

He blushed brightly and blinked back at her and she only continued her silent observation of him, he expression somewhat unreadable.  “I, erm, that is…”

She brushed the back of her hand along his cheek softly, “Waste not your breath on explanations. All things are revealed in their own time.” She moved past him to take the kettle from the fire and several cups before reaching into a large black lidded jar that contained a rather potent mixture of tea leaves. “The children are down by the cove. I passed them on my way.” She made herself a steaming cup of tea and then looked casually at Jack. “The girl you brought here. She’s not entirely human either.” She looked back at Groves and gave a little smirk as she sipped her drink. “Seems you’ve started up a collection. How quaint.”

They all stared at her, and then Hector and Groves both turned their gazes on Sparrow. Barbossa leaned against the table, staring at him. “What do you mean _not entirely human_?” he gawked.

“That’s nonsense, “ Jack scoffed, waving off the acquisition. “Witches are human…aren’t they?”

“There’s two of them?” Groves gawked, voices cracking slightly.

Jack raised his hands, “Alright, alright, everyone settle down! Shansa must be mistaken, Carina is nothing more than a rather willful nymph that is in possession of a curious book. She may, also, have had some vision about me in regards to this Salazar business. But I hardly see how that makes her less than human.”

“There is no mistake. The girl belongs to the sea itself, there is salt water in her veins, sure as it flows in mine and this charming gentleman here. But in her, even more so. An intriguing find, Jack. She may in fact hold the key to your salvation.”

Hector sat down tiredly, rubbing his head. “Bloody fuck, it’s not even noon…”

 

***

 

                A short while later found the entire clan down by the beach, where they indeed found the children lingering on one of the high sand dunes above the water. Shandy turned towards them, rubbing his arms nervously. It was clear that something had set him on edge.

                “Captains! Come see!”

                “What is it, lad?”

                The cabin boy immediately latched onto Jack’s arm as he approached, and Sparrow was shocked by this, for the boy was not exactly physically affectionate—except when he was afraid. He pointed down to the water. “Mermaids, sir. In the shallows! I warned her!”

                “Oh dear,” Groves gasped, moving forward quickly and making his way down the rocky path to the sand below, the others following close behind, though Jack had to all but drag Shandy.

                Once they moved closer they could see Carina standing with her feet in the shallows, speaking to several of the beautiful creatures who were floating in on the tide, toying with the hem of her dress and singing to her.

                “Ladies! Ladies, don’t--!”

                “It’s alright!” Carina called back. “They’re quite friendly!”

                The women turned their gazes from the girls to the taller man approaching them and they immediately moved as close as the water would let them, reaching for him. “Theodore! We were starting to worry!”

                “I’m so sorry, darlings, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Things became rather hectic last night and well, I—“ he looked back at the other two men behind him and smiled, “I suppose I lost track of time.”

                Both Jack and Barbossa recognized the woman at the forefront of the crowd as Tamara, who had been one of the elder mermaids they encountered in Whitecap Bay. “Captains; fate brings us together again.” She greeted warmly.

                Jack’s brown eyes lit up at the sight of her, and he suddenly remembered his plan, which had been swept aside in all the excitement of the previous evening. He strode forward hurriedly to stand beside Groves, bowing before them and they giggled in result as his antics always amused them.

                “Friends of yours?”

                “They’re my pride. Er, that is…”

                “Your mates,” Jack nodded, scratching his beard curiously. “Interesting. Very interesting…I suppose you are a rather rare commodity, and in need of protection. Of course, it makes sense.” He looked at the women floating in the water, “You have excellent taste, ladies. He’s quite the catch.”

                They all giggled together while Groves went red clear up to his ears.

                Barbossa moved closer to them in the surf, stopping short of the submerging his boots. “Come up from there, girl,” he coaxed, extending a hand to Carina, who turned and slowly took it, allowing the man to lead her further out of the water. Two of the mermaids slithered after her, but Hector watched them carefully.

                “Beautiful they are, but deadly to those who are not wise to their ways. Best you stay up here, lass.”

                “I had no idea…they truly are real.”

                “As you or I.” he answered. He looked at her silently when her gaze was drawn away, feeling an odd pull towards her. There was indeed something to the child, though it wasn’t immediately obvious what. She was obviously the child of two races, much like Jack, but her skin was lighter, closer to a caramel color than Jack’s dark cinnamon tones. She was also freckled across her face, and her eyes were a vivid blue—not a common color for those native to these ports. Her hair was curly and coarse like Jack’s, but reminded him of someone else…he wasn’t sure who. Being near her made him feel strange, especially knowing now that she was not what she seemed.

                She looked back at him then and flinched back, glaring him up and down guardedly. He was almost certain she had a mind to strike him.

                “Stand down, Miss.” He said bluntly, giving her his cool, commanding gaze that was typical reserved for his crewmen. “Ye’ve nothing to fear from this old sea dog. So long as I can expect no treachery from ye.”

                She seemed mildly surprised with how bluntly he spoke to her, and then nodded. “No, sir.”

                He nodded in approval and stepped away from her, sighing as he saw the mermaids steadily pulling Jack further out into the water.  “Jack! What’er ye doin’! Let them be!”

                The dark-haired pirate glanced back at him with a playful shrug, “Sorry mate! Can’t resist!” he laughed as they finally pulled him off his feet and out into the waves.

                “He’s more than safe, Hector, not to worry.” Groves assured.

                “It ain’t him I’m worried for. It’s yer lady friends.” Barbossa sighed. Groves took his hand then and looked him in the eye.

                “I think it’s time I showed you.”

                He moved further into the surf, and began to undress himself then paused and looked back over his shoulder, “Um, tell the children to look away. This will go entirely much easier if I’m a little less, um, attired.”

                Carina shut her eyes dutifully, while Hector was forced to clap a hand over Shandy’s to prompt him to listen. Groves finished disrobing himself and tossed the garments back onto the sand before diving into the incoming waves.

                He slithered through the water where Jack sat in the shallows up to his waist and then a bit further out where their feet could not quite touch the soft sand below. The water was clear and they could see him easily, but it seemed like the sun was getting the better of them because they winced at the way it glittered off the surface, bright and shining. It was after a moment they realized the light was not entirely sourced from above. Groves’s legs seemed suddenly sealed together and the two pirates stared as his flesh seemed to knit together as if covered in a fine film, then something thicker. Tan skin molted and became hundreds and hundreds of scales, each catching the reflection of the light through the water as it became fully formed; colored in hues of blue, indigo, flecked with copper and gold.

                Not only this, but Groves’s became…longer. Physically he seemed to grow in length as he swam, and as he curled back around towards them, circling Jack in entirety before swimming towards Hector, they saw that he had easily gained another four feet in length. His tail formed a large blue fan that crashed up and down through the surf as he came to rest in the sand at Hector’s feet, pulling himself into something of a sitting position in the surf.

                They could see now that his upper half had not gone untouched by the change. Though he looked much the same, his skin was patched with faint scalloping of scales at the edges of his face, and along his arms and torso. The faint lines of gills were also evident on his long neck, and his ears had become somewhat pointed.  His fingers were clawed now and webbed, and looked like they could easily tear flesh.

                But despite all this, Groves was ever himself, changed only in the physical details.

                He looked up somewhat nervously at Barbossa, unsure what his reaction would be, feeling the full brunt of his startled gaze.

                “Please…don’t be afraid. I know it’s a bit much to take in all at once…” he looked back at the length of his tail, swaying about in the surf, looking like gold coins scattered across glittering blue waters. “But I’m still me. Truly, I am.”

                “Was there ever any doubtin’ that?” Hector asked, kneeling down best he could to look the man in the eye, hooking his fingers behind his ear and drawing him in a bit closer. “Yer beautiful.”

                Behind him the other maids giggled again and Groves looked back at them and gave a playful hiss before splashing his tail at them, his face red.

                Jack had swum closer and was now half crawling over his tail, half bobbing in the surf, staring in fascination at his scales. “You’re certainly not wrong about that, luv. Never seen coloring like this before on merfolk.”

                Both Hector and Groves looked back at the pirate as straddled the length of scale and muscle, examining it like a giddy child. He ran his palms over it, not sure what to expect in texture and found it smooth and cool to the touch. The muscles reacted with instinctive reflex, tensing and rippling in a gentle attempt to dislodge Jack. The action however only sought to further entice the man. “Well, that certainly explains some of your increased, um, _muscle_ I suppose.” He chuckled, feeling Theodore nudge him again until he crawled free and moved to sit beside him in the sand.

                “How are you enjoying it, luv? This new gift of yours? Must be fascinating, being able to go below the depths where no mortal sailor’s gone before, explore the mysteries of the deep…or more rather, _become_ one said mystery yourself.”

                “It has its advantages, certainly.” Groves nodded. “Though to be completely forthcoming; it’s taken some time to adjust to the changes. The impulse to hold my breath when I’m underwater for instance. It’s an entirely different world below the surface. So much so that at times I feel like it can’t be real.”

                Tamara, the golden haired woman and matriarch of her pride swam towards them then, though she did not come as close as she might have. “My sisters and I have done all within our power to guide him through this transition, but it is indeed a difficult one. Sometimes, despite our gifts, the change is rejected and the human body dies altogether. Theodore has proven strong in this regard; I admit.”

                The gravity of her words was not lost on any of them, but it was Sparrow who sought to change the subject. “My lady, if I might have a word with you. There is a favor I would ask,”

                “Jack, don’t—”

                “Name thy wish and it is granted.”

                “The Sword of Triton, m’luv. The one we returned to you from Blackbeard; I require it.”

                “You require what is not ours to give.”

                “M’lady, you don’t understand! That sword is the key to freeing my ship, to finally undoing the remaining evils that man has visited upon me. Please, I would only be borrowing it for a moment, it will never leave your sight! What say you?”

                Jack was used to easy persuasion, especially with women, but Tamara was not going to be convinced so easily.  She studied him with a cold and keen eye for a time, and even Groves was somewhat unnerved by her scrutiny, so much that he reached out to her as if to remind her that Jack was a friend they could trust.

                It was Jack alone who did not appear concerned with her gaze; he knew his heart and he knew that his desire for the Pearl might indeed be a self-centered one, but not ill-intended. And she seemed to know it too.

                “The sword lies in a hidden and scared spot many leagues from here. The journey is far and will take time, even for my kind. And I do not know if _time_ is something you have to spare.”

                “All the more reason for us to quit haggling and get to the point,” he quipped. “We are indebted to each other, lass, you and I. The cycle goes ‘round and ‘round; business never quite finished. At least not until the last of your brood are salt and foam and I’m naught but bones myself. In helping me, you are in fact helping yourselves. For whatever is out there fouling the ocean with its unholy presence is sure to cause havoc wherever it roams and I doubt your kind will go untouched. Not in this case.”

                It was a hard point to argue with. Slowly the woman nodded and pulled Jack further out into the water, away from Groves and the others. Theodore reached after him, but Tamara and Jack both waved him off.

                “He’s nothing to fear from her, save a good dunking if he doesn’t mind his manners,” Hector soothed.

                “You don’t look pleased with this plan.” Theodore replied, looking back at him once Tamara and Jack had moved out of earshot to a rock further out in the water.

                “I wouldn’t deign to call it that; more like an inkling, a hunch at best. Jack doesn’t _plan_. He gambles with the odds. He was born under a lucky star I’m sure, to live as long as he has.” Absently he reached towards the pendant that hung around his neck again and stroked it idly.  Groves sensed the wariness in him, but for the moment said nothing on the matter.

 

                The lot of them lingered there in the warm sun and surf for a time, and the world around them seemed to slow down just a little and became a bit quieter, and bit more still. Groves disappeared for a time beneath the clear turquois waves to be with his pride, and those on land watched for the faint flickers of scales that would surface from time to time.

                But the merfolk were not the only thing to see; their arrival seemed to have attracted other denizens of the deep; schools of fish that would scurry into the shallows and the tide pools only to vanish again. Lines of crabs that would pop up like bubbles in the sand; as well as gulls that cried overhead and even larger sea-life.  Shandy was sure, as he remained in his protected spot on one of the over-looking dunes, that he saw the fin of a shark snaking through the water just beyond the edge of the cove itself.

                Barbossa watched silently as the two supposed “witches” moved about their environment in surprisingly similar, yet starkly different regards. Shansa was busying herself collecting samples along the beach—picking up viles of sea water, collecting fresh crabs, snails and whatever else she could easily catch, all while cautiously observing and being observed by the remaining mermaids on the surface. She muttered and mumbled to herself, and he paid her no mind, as she did so often. It was obvious that the woman had spent long years in isolation, and speaking aloud to herself was ingrained in her.

                His eyes moved towards Carina, who stood at the water’s edge, tome in hand, scribbling away inside of it and muttering in much the same quiet, concentrated way. He remembered what Jack had said about the book and so made to move a bit closer to her, glancing over her shoulder.

                Not only could the child write, but she had a knack for sketch work as well, as Hector realized she had drawn several very well crafted likenesses of the mermaid’s tails as well as the gills on their necks.

                “That’s very clever work you have there,” he offered. “Must have been schooled well.”

                The moment she realized he was behind her, she snapped the book shut and glared over her shoulder at him. “It’s _rude_ to do that you know.”

                “It’s also rude to speak that way to yer elders, lass. Ye needn’t hiss and scratch like an alley cat. Pirate I be, but I’m no threat to you.”

                “Everyone is a threat if they choose to be.” She answered.

                Again, Hector found himself unable to argue with her logic, though her tone vexed him. He instead ignored her cheek and looked back out into the waves. “Carina’s an unusual name. Yer parents must have been seafarers.”

                “Why do you say that?”

                “Not many know of that star, nor how to find it, save those who have traveled seas and learn to navigate by the night sky.”

                “My mother said my father was a sailor; a great one. But I don’t know  much more than that about him. I suppose he could have chosen the name; though she never said as much. She loved the sea too. More than she loved me, I suppose.”

                “Wouldn’t have been the first, and she won’t be the last. The sea calls to some of us, and tis certain that if you heed it, you’re hers forever.”

                “Hers?” the girl scoffed. “You speak of the ocean as though it were a person.”

                “Ah, but it was, m’dear, and might yet be again.” He was smiling though she was fixing him with a look that clearly told him she thought him mad.

                “A body of water cannot take human shape. That’s preposterous.”

                “And what of them?” he asked, nodding towards the women she was so keenly observing. “Are they also preposterous?”

                Her cheeks went red and her brows furrowed; she was picture of frustration and Hector couldn’t help but grin as he turned away from her. He moved off down the beach a bit, meaning to make for one of the large tide pools around the rocks where he could be closer to Groves and Jack but not have to go further into the open water.

                It was in doing so that he noticed something and he paused. There was a deep groove in the sand along the shore, leading up into the long brush of seagrass that grew along the hillside. Hector limped towards it, using the tip of his crutch to push aside the long waves of grass until he discovered a dingy.

                He took a step back in surprise, feeling a chill rush up his pine. The boat itself was not liken to any of the long boats that were attached to his own ships, and even if it had indeed come from one of his fleet, it hardly made sense for it be hidden as such.

                Clearly someone was on the island and did not want it known. The question was who, and were they here now?

                His eyes scanned the hills and cliffside for some sign of a trail or further disturbances, but nothing seemed out of place. Which was exactly what was so unsettling. He pushed the grass away further to more thoroughly inspect the boat, thinking perhaps there was a clue left behind to indicate its owner. But there was nothing to see; whoever had come ashore had either taken all their effects with them or had come empty handed.

                He moved from the boat then towards the most convenient trail that lead up the path towards the lighthouse. The island was small and contained little in the way of places to hide. The trees were limited to a few palm groves that grew at the northern border, and the ferns other ground covering plants were spaced out and would provide almost no cover. But there were plenty of crags and tiny caves in the rocky cliff side where someone could hide if they were brave or desperate enough.

                He started towards one when he heard Shandy approach. “Sir? Something wrong?”

                Hector stopped, almost as if startled out of a trance and looked back at the boy. “Seen anything usual of late, lad? Besides the lot in the water down there, of course.”

                “I…no, sir. Why do you ask?”

                “Seems our little island is garnering some interest of late. I don’t like the feel of it. Someone is here who shouldn’t be, and I mean to find out who and why.” He showed the boy the boat hidden in the grass.

                “Perhaps someone from port, sir?”

                “Aye, seems likely.” Hector nodded, but something in his gut said otherwise. “Keep a weather eye, lad. Whoever they are, seems certain that at some point they’ll have to show themselves or come back for this.”

                “Aye, Captain, I’ll keep watch.” He nodded dutifully.

                Hector thanked him and began towards the caves again, but the boy surprised him by catching his sleeve. “Captain, wait…the tide’s coming in. Those flood easily. It won’t be safe, should you explore too far.”

                Barbossa knew the lad was right, and he struggled with his sense and his growing feeling of dread. His hands had gone cold and clammy. “Captain?”

                He said nothing, finally willing himself away and returning to the pools, sitting down on the edge of the black rock to pull off his boot and removed his peg leg, as well as vest, sash and overcoat before sinking into the water up to his chest.

                The boy lingered there, looking like he wanted to follow his example but gave the mermaids another nervous glance. He had never quite recovered from what he had seen at Whitecap Bay, and Hector could hardly blame his mistrust of the creatures.

                They watched as Sparrow returned from his perch on the rock beyond the shallows and swam back towards them, easily mounting the rim of porous rock that divided the open water and pool before splashing down in front of Barbossa and splashing him with water, dousing him completely.

                “Dammit, Jack!”

                “Don’t get in the water if you don’t want to get wet, luv.” The other man giggled, taking hold of the chain around his neck and pulling him in to kiss him and afterwards both men spat away the taste of saltwater that mingled on their lips and laughed.

                “What are you up to out there?”

                “Beg pardon?”

                “Don’t play innocent, it fails ye miserably. What wickedness ye be out there plottin with that woman?”

                “Only business, mate. Tamara has agreed to retrieve the sword and meet us at a half way point. She’ll be off by dark and we should ready the ship before dawn tomorrow.”

                “Yer heart’s set on this course, eh?”

                Jack studied him a moment, “Now’s not the time for faint hearts, luv. With Groves returned to us and his pride eager to assist, restoring the Pearl to her former glory will be at last in reach. Salazar could not contend with her in life, I don’t give him much credit in death.” Jack sounded very sure of all this, but Hector didn’t mirror his enthusiasm in the least.

                “What of the intruder, sir?” Shandy asked, having watched the exchange.

                Jack looked up curiously, and Hector winced, looking back at the boy and glaring at him sharply.

                “What intruder?”

                Shandy stuttered a bit, looking between Barbossa’s severe gaze and Jack’s inquisitive one; but spoke anyway, “The boat Captain Barbossa discovered, sir, one hidden in the grass along the beach. Someone must have come ashore in the night.”

                Jack knew of course that the intruder was none other than Bill, but the others didn’t.

                “Oh well, not to worry there. I’m sure it was one the crew who came along to check on the boats and probably stumbled off somewhere to sleep off their drinks from last night,” he said, feigning ease and disinterest in the idea of an intruder. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Gibbs himself turned up asleep in the loft. He’s done it before.”

                “Gibbs has no reason to hide.” Hector muttered.

                Jack could tell he was anxious, vexed.

                “Fine then, I’ll go have a look myself. Lay you odds that one of the crew is over at the docks, sleeping sound. Or getting into the rum stores. In which case I’d better hurry.” He lifted himself out of the water and moved off down the beach and Hector cursed venomously under his breath.

                “Forgive me, sir. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

                The pirate removed himself from the water, grabbed his crutch and moved off without further comment, and Shandy felt that he had insulted or angered him greatly. He stood there paralyzed for a long moment before Shansa came upon him.

                “His anger is not with you, but with his own fears.”

 

***       


	7. Chapter 7

***                                           

               

                Jack made his way around the rocky shoreline to the private cove where the ships were harbored and hidden from the naked eye. As he suspected, the ships were not left unattended, as he could already hear voices from aloft. Coming along the rotting docks, he shouted up at the rail to gain their attention and several seconds later, a rather flustered looking Mr. Gibbs appeared.

                “Captain!”

                “You could have come up and announced yourself,” Jack replied without greeting, frowning at the older man. “Are you still drunk, man?”

                “I, er…no…”

                It was an unconvincing lie but Sparrow shrugged it off. “Nevermind it now. Hector will be happy to know it’s just you lot prowling about and not an actual threat.”

                “Beg pardon, sir?”

                Jack started to walk away, but Gibbs followed him down the gangplank onto the dock. “Captain, I don’t know what yer talkin’ about. The lads and I have been here since last night, shortly after yer own safe return from port. We figured Scarfield and his men might be feeling brave and reckless and attempt to sabotage the ships or worse…but none of us have left this spot since after midnight.” He looked at Sparrow a bit more carefully. “But there has been someone lurking and moving about…just assumed it was one of you lot.”

                “I didn’t say it wasn’t.” the dark skinned man spoke quickly.

                Gibbs blinked at him several times and cocked his head. “What’s going on, Jack?”

                “Nothing of importance. Mr. Groves is safely returned to us, and his companions have agreed to help in my endeavor to free the Pearl from her glass prison. And speaking of which,” he motioned back towards The Revenge. “I expect you to get the old girl ready to sail by first light. The lads and I will be venturing out; shouldn’t be more than three days journey. See that everything’s ready.”

                “Aye, sir!” Gibbs stepped a little closer, looking at his old friend with a renewed light in his eyes. “This time for sure, Captain? We’ll get her back?”

                “Aye, Gibbs. No more distractions.”

                At this his first mate shuffled off back towards the ship, barking orders to the rest of the dazed and sluggish crew, and Jack nodded and went on his way, looking more confident than he really felt. He was certain Tamara would make good on their agreement, and that the sword would indeed free his ship from the spell.  It was the interim that vexed him.

                The thought of Salazar and his promise of revenge chilled him, but it also seemed like a vague threat. Something he couldn’t quite be certain was completely real. After all, he hadn’t seen the specter himself and despite all the ill-omens, his old enemy hadn’t yet caught up to him.

                Jack decided that there was little use in fretting himself over a devil who had not yet made himself known to him. He would deal with it when the moment arose, and by then he planned to have The Pearl in his command again. This thought quelled his fear for the moment.

                Unfortunately, it did nothing to assuage the new uneasiness in him regarding his immediate dilemma; that of Bootstrap Bill.

                It was obvious that Bill wasn’t being as careful as he could be in hiding himself; therefore discovery was surely inevitable. Jack felt his head throb in response to the idea; Hector would be displeased. Deeply, deeply displeased. Even more so if he knew what Bill had requested of Jack. Hector would never allow it…

                And that thought sent a hot little spark of anger through Jack, followed by a splinter of spitefulness.  He decided again that his lover should remain ignorant of Bill’s presence as long as possible. With Groves here, this seemed an achievable goal. And once the Pearl was released, perhaps Hector would stop fretting so much. Jack couldn’t understand it; especially not now. They’d faced terrible dangers before, ominous looming doom far greater than this. Yet Hector still wanted to keep him from the only place Jack knew he belonged. What did Hector know that Jack didn’t?

               

***

 

                The rest of the day was flurry of activity, as news of the voyage traveled into port where the rest of their fleet had were resting on shore leave. For the first time in months, there was a rush of excitement in the air as the sails of _The Queen Ann’s Revenge_ , bright and gleaming crimson against the afternoon sun, were unfurled against the blazing blue Caribbean sky.

                Transformed once more into his human form, Groves watched his lovers in their element, both masters of their trade, barking orders at their crewmen, inspecting the ship, both men noticeably lighter at the prospect of once again being out on the water. Jack, especially, seemed to practically glow with exhilaration and Groves found himself falling still further for the man.

                Watching him now lifted his own fears about the ghoulish figure he had encountered. After all, this was _Captain Jack Sparrow_! He had survived a trip to The Locker, being eaten alive by a Kraken, bested Blackbeard and his zombies…curses were hardly a new obstacle for Jack. Maybe there was really no reason to fear; not if the sword could indeed free _The Black Pearl._

                But of course, that begged another question…certainly the Pearl might be able to out-run Salazar, but that did not mean that it could stop him. Running from a problem was all well and good, presuming you could run forever. Which no one could. Not even Jack, try as he might.

               

                Neither Hector nor Jack had given him much task work for the moment, and he felt antsy standing around, twiddling his thumbs. After all, this was work that came as second nature to him and he missed it. But Theodore wasn’t truly sure what part he had to play yet, so he quietly sunk into the background and awaited orders. An all too familiar feeling for him that made him uneasy.

                Luckily his attention was caught then as the crew began to hesitate in their tasks, their heads turned towards the gang plank. Groves turned too, wondering what was so interesting, to find Shansa stepping aboard the ship, laden with two heavy satchels that were made of worn cloth and fishing nets. There were bottles strung together on thick bits of rope, some empty and others containing all manner of ingredients and objects. She also bore in her arm one thick tome that had been bound and rebound again with strips of leather and seemed to be imbedded with shells and pearls and other odd but beautiful and mystical objects.

                She paid no mind to the sailors who stopped to gawk at her as she made her way across the deck and found a suitable corner to place her belongings, which was just outside the door of the Captain’s cabin.

                This brought a snort from one of the men behind them, and Groves cocked his head as he heard one of them quip quietly to another; “Who does she think she is, coming aboard the ship, pretty as you please, as if she has a place here?”

                “She’s got the captains in her snare, sure is certain. Or they owe her a debt, can’t rightly figure which. Was ol’ Barbossa that brought her back from Whitecap Bay, and as ye’ve seen, he ain’t never been quite right since. Now looks as if she’s setting her claws in ol’ Jack.”

                Here the man that Groves recognized vaguely as “Scrum” cleared his throat, addressing the other group of men who had been speaking. “I don’t know about you gents, but I’m going to keep a close eye on that one. Had lots of encounters with witches, I have. If you’re not careful, they’ll fix you with the evil eye, and send rats crawling out of yer innards, and steal your fingers and toes for their midnight rituals to their profane gods!” he cried, relishing the attention while of course completely talking out his ass.

                Groves bristled, as not only was the talk distasteful but outlandish and obviously slanderous. Worst of all, Shansa was completely within ear-shot of all of it.

                However the woman seemed to pay no mind to insults that were idly being slung her way. Instead, she was busy rummaging through her effects, digging out a small object that was blue in color, and long with a large bottle of what looked like sea-water, distilled with roots and what looked like a bit of coral.

                Groves watched as she moved to various and seemingly strategic places about the ship, taking the first object, which appeared to be a writing tool of some kind, and began etching small symbols into the wood of the ship, muttering over the quietly, before reaching into her bottle, wetting her fingers and splashing the fresh markings.

                Groves so no harm in this, in fact, he found it rather interesting. But it was Scrum and the other crewmen, who seemed to think otherwise. The stout pirate suddenly charged past him, ponytail swinging behind him under the brim of his tri-corner hat as he lumbered towards the woman, and he grabbed her hand as she went to make another mark. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

                It was not but a second later that another hand had clamped down on Scrum’s shoulder and yanked him angrily backwards. “I was about to be asking ye the same question,” Barbossa’s voice snarled, blue eyes boring into Scrum’s as if they would burn a hole through him. “Unhand the girl.”

                “Captain Barbossa! S-sorry, sir, I was just trying to stop this witch—”

                “And what right is it ye believe ye have to be doing any such thing?” Hector snapped right back, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “She is no concern of yours, Mr. Scrum, and if I so much as catch ye lookin’ at her side-ways, I’ll throw yer great stinkin’ carcass overboard meself.”

                “But sir! It’s bad luck to have a woman on a ship! Mr. Gibbs agrees with me, don’t you sir?”

                “Leave me out of this…” Gibbs muttered, shaking his head and going back to his tasks, ignoring Scrum fully.

                It was then that Jack strode forward, “What’s all this fuss?”

                “I was only tryin’ to explain to Captain Barbossa that he ought not so readily trust this witch aboard the vessel! I mean, see her what she’s done already and she only just stepped aboard! Those are cursed markings, I assure you!”

                Through all this Shansa regarded them all in complete silence, her face impassive, seeming neither offended nor troubled by Scrum’s words. But here she spoke, “The marks I make are runes of protection, blessed for a safe voyage and protection against evil spirits.” She looked at Scrum a bit more carefully, her dark eyes narrowing faintly as she looked him up and down. He reminded her much of the men in the village where she had come from, who always regarded her as a blight that needed to be staved off.

                “If I were to work my will in wickedness, I would not do so before the eyes of ignorant mortal men who fear all things unlike themselves.”

                Scrum shuddered but then puffed out his chest, looking indignantly at the Captains who had gathered in front of him. “SEE?! See?! I tell you she’s no good! A witch can never be anything but trouble!”

                “Is that so?” Jack muttered, stepping forward now, standing very close to Scrum’s pock-marked face. “You mealy mouthed little cur. My mother was a witch, not so very different from Shansa.  She protected my father and his crew on numerous voyages, and was as able and learned a sailor as any of the rest, and worth twice any man aboard. And I tell you now, son, if I ever hear you speak ill of the lady, or any witch again…it isn’t a ‘profane’ ritual you’re going to have to worry about. Savvy?”

                “But—”

                The moment he tried to speak again, both Captains erupted in a tirade of curses and complaints, bellowing and shouting at the man until he was all but cowering behind his hat, attempting a stuttering apology.

                The rest of the crew gawked at the scene until finally both Jack and Hector seemed too disgusted to continue and parted ways, Barbossa shoving a mop and bucket taken from another deck hand into Scrum’s arms and sloshing him with the dirty water. “Swab the deck, every inch! If I can’t see my bloody face in it by moonrise, ye’ll be spending this voyage in the brig. Are we very clear?”

                “Sir, yes Captain Barbossa!”

                “And Shansa, m’dear,” he called, looking to the woman. “If ye be needing any fat fer makin’ yer balms and such, I’m sure Mr. Scrum here would be delighted to oblige, seeing as how he has an excess of worthless weight he might be free of.”

                Scrum paled at the threat, though Hector was not serious, and shrunk in on himself.

                “You wouldn’t really--?”

                “Are ye sure ye want to find out?” Hector hissed back and Scrum shook his head quickly.

                He turned away, his crutch and peg leg pounding upon the wood, trailing after Jack who had already returned to the tasks at hand.  The rest of the crew chuckled under their breath, and Scrum felt himself red-faced and flustered, but thankful he’d only received a verbal beratement, knowing he could have easily suffered worse.

                Still, he turned, humiliated, and glared at the woman, who had gone back to her markings. He stepped beside her, but did not touch her, and hissed. “I know ye’ve worked your weird and wily magic on ‘em, but it doesn’t matter. Sooner or later they’ll see you for what you are; it won’t be ol’ Scrum who’s cast off then, girly. It’ll be you. Yer a freak, an unnatural thing…just look at you.”

                Shansa turned and looked at him plainly and sternly but her face gave away no other emotion. Instead she reached into her jar and flicked some of the salt water onto Scrum’s face and made him cry out and shake it away.

                “Maybe that will free whatever demon’s taken your tongue, sailor. Now let me be, or I may be tempted to make good on the Captain’s generous offer.”

                It was at that point that Groves moved towards the woman and led her aside, away from the shouting.  “Are you quite alright?”

                The woman seemed more startled by Grove’s concern than of the scene being made behind them.

                “Don’t listen to him. He’s just barking in the dark, that’s all. Trying to feel important. His words don’t mean anything.”

                Shansa offered him what seemed like the faintest of smiles and nodded her head, turning back to her work. “You needn’t trouble yourself to assure me, Mr. Groves. It is not the first time that men have looked upon me and seen their fears reflected back at them. Nor will it be the last. I have long since learned to ignore their slander and words of ignorance.”

                She seemed self-assured in this, but her eyes lowered and Groves thought them to be a little sad. Certainly there seemed to be more hesitation in her work than there had been before.

                “Either way, Miss,” he offered gently. “You are a lady and should be treated as such; with the same considerations and dignities. Witch or no. So forgive me if I cannot help but put myself between you and those who would mock your work. It’s what any gentlemen would do.” He tipped his hat to her and left her be, and she watched him go, a little smile tucked into the corner of her lips at what a curious thing he was.

 

**

 

                It took until the sun was low and sinking in the sky, but at last _The Queen Ann’s Revenge_ was ready, her sails at full canvas, catching the fast wind that had blown in from the North, slowly pulling away from the shores of the little island where it had been moored.

                Jack was at the helm, Hector close at his side. Sparrow was practically beaming with excitement, the only thing that could have made it all more perfect would be for him to be standing at the helm of _The Black Pearl_ but that would come soon enough.

                Shansa was stowed away in her own private cabin for the moment, preparing more spells he guessed, or perhaps meditating, and Grooves was at the rail, Carina and Shandy flanked on either side of him.

He looked down at the crew as the scuttled about the deck, hard at work at their tasks, the lot of them as roused and ready as he was for the voyage ahead. It was a good group of men, cherry-picked by himself, Barbossa and of course Gibbs, who had the closest relation to the crew members and knew each of their strengths and weakness like the back of his own two hands.

                 He caught Gibb’s eyes from the lower deck and the pair shared a smile and a faint nod. At last, things seemed to be on the proper course once more.

                Hector’s arm circled his waist and pulled himself close to Jack, leaning in to kiss his cheek and the soft place behind his ear, making the tan pirate all but purr. “Haven’t seen ye quite this pleased in some time,” the redhead chuckled. “I suppose it’s true that first love is indeed the sea.”

                Jack laughed softly and turned to look at him; “Trust me, darlin’, this is all for the best. You look a sight better for some fresh sea air as well.” He brushed Hector’s hair out of his face with his free hand. “You should have brought your hat.”

                “Oh that old thing…” Hector laughed, “I suppose it’s in the cabin somewhere.”

                “I hate that hat.”

                “You love it. You picked it for me, don’t you recall? That night at the Cove. Same night as the fireworks, and the festival.”

                “Yes, but only because it was as pompous as you were.” Jack laughed. “Ah, but you do look dashing in it, I admit. Even thirty odd years later, when it’s full of holes.” He caught Hector’s hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it and sighed. “I’m glad you finally saw things my way.”

                “How do ye mean?”

                “All this worrying and fussing and nonsense waiting about…land is no place for you or I, Hector, we both know that. I was starting to fear you were ready for retirement.”

                “Was never about a lack of desire for the sea, Jack.” He replied. “Truth is I was never more homesick for it. But I had my reasons. I need you to trust me on this.” He looked at the man with intent, eyes almost begging for Jack to see there had always been reason behind the madness, reasons he couldn’t explain, not now and not here. He just needed him to know that it was never what he _wanted_.  It was what he felt he had to do, to keep Jack safe.

                Jack seemed to read this, at least a little because he softened and pulled the man to him again and kissed him, giving off the wheel to Mr. Cotton.

                Barbossa held the other man fast, grateful that he no longer seemed resentful, hoping that Jack could forgive him this latest transgression. He began to relax a bit more, playfully brushing his tongue along Sparrow’s, when he thought he felt someone lean against him from behind, and heard a familiar harsh voice in his ear again.

                _“Ye don’t deserve him, you never did.”_

                Hector pulled away with a sharp gasp and whirled, nearly falling on his face at the loss of balance, but Jack caught him quickly.

                “Oy! Steady there!”

                The redhead clutched his chest, casting about with wide, haunted looking eyes.

                “Hector? What happened?”

                Aside from Cotton and his parrot, no one else seemed to have witnessed the incident, or even seemed aware that anything was amiss. His eyes scowered the deck for a moment, searching for a face lurking in plane sight, sure he’d heard him, sure it was real.

                But of course, it wasn’t. Jack turned his face towards him, suddenly very worried. “Too much sun, luv?”

                Slowly Barbossa nodded, licking his lips. He let Jack right him and once he was steady he pulled away, though the other captain trailed at his heels. “Guess you should go find that hat, eh?”

                “Aye, of course…” Hector muttered distractedly. But rather than step into the cabin, he made for the stairs to the lower deck. “Some shade and stiff drink will do me good. Back to the wheel, Sparrow, keep her steady while the wind is up.”

                “You sure you’re alright, luv?”

                “Fine. Too much sun, as ye said.”

                He disappeared before Jack could ask any more questions and made his way deeper into the ship, stopping where the powder kegs were and let himself fall against the wall, trying to catch his breath, which was suddenly tight and panicked.

                He slammed his fist against the wood, cursing bitterly and muttering some oath to Calypso. “Make it stop…when are the bloody visions going to stop…?”

                “Never, I’m afraid,” a quiet voice answered him, making him turn once more to find Shansa approaching him through the shadows, having just come from the galley. “Not as long as you allow your fears to flourish in the dark and your silence.”

                Hector shook his head and waved her off with a sharp sneer, “Leave me be, girl, I’m in no mood for yer riddles just now.”

                “You’ve never told Jack what happened to you in that month you were apart; when you were taken by _The Flying Dutchman_.”

                “It doesn’t concern him.”

                “You can lie to your crew as you wish, Captain. But do not attempt the same with me. It is an insult to us both.”

                He let himself sink against one of the barrels, scrubbing his hand across his face. “Shansa, I be grateful for the part you played in freeing me from that damned ship. But the events that took place there are not up for discussion.”

                She stepped closer to him, either not seeing or not caring for his guarded body language and gently put her hand over his. “You were wronged on that ship. Harmed, not just physically, but here as well.” She tapped her finger to his head and then his heart. Hector tried to push her away, but she wouldn’t move.

                “Do you forget so quickly that I treated your hurts? That I saw the bruises, the bites, the marks. I am not naïve to these things; I know the wickedness men can inflict, even on each other. It is no fault of your own.”

                “Clever girl,” he muttered, though there was no softness in his voice just then. “If ye have it all riddled out then, you should be understanding of my position. This is a burden no one else need bear, and a tale that certainly need not be told. It wouldn’t change anythin’.”

                “Yet you do not seek revenge.” She studied his face, though he continued to refuse to meet her gaze. Not that it mattered; he couldn’t hide from her. After a moment she nodded slowly, “You don’t seek revenge because it was a sacrifice you made.” She looked back up the stairs towards the deck above. “To protect him?”

                “Stop it!” he shouted at her then. “Just _stop_! Damn you and that fuckin’ third eye of yours, what gives ye the right to poking about in others business—”

                “You lied to Jack Sparrow once to keep him safe, and where did you both end up? Standing on a pile of cursed gold in Isle de Meurta with pistols pointed at one another! Are you really fool enough to repeat that mistake?”

                This finally shocked him into silence and he released his grip on her, pale and staring. “How did you…?”

                “You are known to the sea, Hector, and so you are known to me. Calypso gave you a second chance, do not squander it for the sake of your pride.”

                He remained mute until finally she moved closer to him, put his arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I will make you a potion to help the nightmares fade. But you’ll never be rid of them until you face the source.”

                Eventually Hector nodded and she released him, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

 

**

 

                Groves could see the full moon rising in the sky, dark bronze and swollen before the sun had even fully set. The sight of it, while beautiful, was also portentous and made him all the more eager to reach their destination.

                He looked down at the surf below the ship, spotting his pride following alongside it just beneath the waves. He had the urge to shed his clothing and climb overboard to join them, but felt he was needed on the ship for now.

                He glanced off to see Carina tucked below the rail by the bowsprit, intently combing through her journal, every now and then her gaze trailing up to the rising orb in the sky.

                “It troubles you too, little one?”

                “I’m not little,” she quipped. “But yes. The moon affects the tides, and the full moon is most potent at this. But I still don’t know what it all means…Captain Sparrow, the Trident, the Blood Moon…how is it all connected?”

                “I’m afraid that remains to be seen.” He sighed.

                She nodded, flipping back through the thick pages of parchment, curious as to what other secrets her little tome may hold. If the moonlight from the night before had revealed messages, surely the light of the full moon would reveal even more. So she was determined to be ready.

                Jack came striding towards them then, looking wind swept, red-cheeked and smiling wide though his eyes were a bit more tired. “Curious creatures and fast friends, the pair of you.” He chuckled moving towards them, causing them both to look up curiously. “What are you up to?”

                “I—nothing, Captain,” Groves began, but Jack shook his head and fixed his gaze on the girl.

                “I meant her.”

                She bristled, frowning at him. “Nothing. And it’s rude to pry into a lady’s business.”

                Jack cast about, “I see no lady here. Just a smart-lipped street urchin. No one gets passage for free on this ship, darlin’, we must all do our share of the work. Up you come.”

                “Oh Jack, don’t—”

                “Ah-ah! Who’s Captain here, _former_ Lieutenant?” he teased, raising a dark eyebrow at the taller man, looked at him in mild exasperation and sighed.

                “You, sir.”

                “Aye, that’s right. Now you run along, check in on Barbossa, it’s been hours since I’ve seen him. Probably sulking in the cabin. Leave the lass to me.”

                “What are you to have me do, scrub the deck? Mend sails?” she asked.

                “No, my little witch.” Jack replied, looking her dead in the eye. “I’ve a better job for you.”

 

**

                Groves, meanwhile, did as he was bid and retreated to the cabin in search of Hector. He expected to find the grumbling over charts and maps or something of the like. Instead, as he stepped inside, he found that the cabin was largely dark, and that Hector was standing near one of the windows that edged around the starboard side of the ship, a nearly empty rum bottle in his hand, staring at the sea behind them.

                “Hector?” Groves asked quietly, almost afraid to break the deep silence of the room.

                “Is everything alright?”

                The pirate was slow to respond, but when he did turn his head towards Groves, it was in a lazy fashion and he smiled, tilting his head. “Well, there he is; my once lost love returned from the dead. Brought back to me by the sea herself. Calypso must not think too poorly of me then, don’t you agree?”

                Groves drew closer slowly, surprised by the way Hector’s were drawn out and ambled and slightly less articulate than usual. “I suppose that must be true,” he chuckled softly. He came to stand in front of the man and Hector looped an arm around his waist and pulled him into kiss him. Groves turned his head, allowing Hector’s lips to only reach his cheek. “You’ve been drinking.”

                “Aye, clever man you are.” Barbossa chuckled.

                Groves pulled the shorter man back to look at him, and saw the glassiness of his eyes and the redness in his cheeks. “You’re drunk.” He mused, half amused, half confused. He’d only seen Hector this way once before and that was during the voyage to Whitecap Bay, when he’d drank himself to drunkenness to ease the pain in his leg. “Is everything alright?”

                Hector waved the man off, taking a staggering step away from him, leaving more heavily on his crutch than he usually did. He made for his chair at the large wooden desk that stood below the stained glass window, and dropped into his chair, tossing the crutch to the floor with a clatter. He let the empty bottle of rum hit the table with a thunk and reached for a bottle of wine instead. That was when Groves saw there was already one empty bottle close by. “Why would anything be wrong?” Hector muttered thickly.

                The black haired man considered the situation carefully and decided it needed a cautious, diplomatic touch. He came to stand beside the large desk and leaned against it so that he could face Hector. “You seem…ill-at-ease, Captain. Can you not confide in me, as you once did?”

                Hector ignored him, toying with his charts, “There is nothing to confide. It has been a long day and I am tired. Nothing more than that. I may look a young man, but I feel every year of my age in my bones, in my soul. Maybe you can no longer understand that, having shuffled off your mortal coil for the most part. Immortal things can lose touch.”

                The words were callous, but Groves did not take offense. Instead he grew more concerned. He placed his hand over Hector’s, keeping him from raising the bottle to his lips yet again. “You cannot chase me off so easily this time,” he said, looking him closely in the eye. “I want only to help you, however you may need. Let me be of service, sir. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

                Barbossa put his hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly. “Then distract me, luv.”

                Groves leaned in and kissed the man, allowing Hector pull him so that he was straddling him across the chair. But as the other man’s hands fumbled with his clothing, Groves lightly caught his wrists, “Hector, please tell me what’s wrong.”

                “What’s wrong is yer there’s entirely too much clothing between the two of us.”

                Groves caught his chin and made him meet his eyes.  “This is not like you. I will undress for you…if you tell me the truth.”

                Finally, Barbossa stilled before sinking back in the chair, amorous pursuits withdrawn.  “Is a man no longer entitled to his secrets? Can he no longer decide what the world does and doesn’t know about him? Some wounds need to be nursed in private, not aired for the whole bloody world to see.”

                “Jack said you hadn’t been sleeping; that you had nightmares almost constantly. There’s a hesitance in you that was never there before, a heaviness about you, like the world is weighing you down. This can not all be because of me; I’m here now. We are all together and still it remains. So what is it then, Hector?”

                The captain sat forward slowly and looked at the younger man with a firm, deeply serious expression, sea-blue eyes boring into his. He took both of Theodore’s hands in his and squeezed them between his palms; “I know ye mean well, lad, but now’s not the time. My mind isn’t clear and my body isn’t willing; it’s all too much. I don’t need words. I need hands to hold me together and a heart that understands mine, whatever its troubles.”

                Groves nodded slowly and kissed him, drawing him up slowly from the chair and putting his arms around him. “To bed, I think. A restful night’s sleep will do you wonders.”

                He helped the other man undress until he down to just his shirt and pulled down the blankets of the bed, before undressing himself and slipping in beside him. He was surprised when Hector did not immediately begin trying to entice him into further intimacies, and instead curled close to him and laid his head on his shoulder, arms tight around him, saying nothing.

                “Whatever it is that troubles you, you may always trust me to help you carry that burden. You know this, don’t you?”

                Hector softened and chuckled lightly. “Aye, I know, Theodore. I know. Thankee.”

          His lover ran his hand over his back in soothing circles, lightly traced the old scars that crisscrossed his flesh and trailed his fingers up along his long neck and toyed with his hair, humming quietly. The sound and the caresses eventually lulled Hector into what seemed like a trance, as he was neither asleep nor fully awake. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was Grove’s own otherworldly abilities to glamor and subdue the fears of those he was trying to entice, it was difficult to say.

                “….don’t think badly of me…” he mumbled, voice soft and detached, as if it wasn’t really coming from him.

                Groves lifted his head from the pillow and looked down at him curiously. “Hector?” the man’s eyes were closed, his breathing deep and slow. He was not conscious, at least not completely.

                “…I let him. God help me, I let him…”

                He didn’t understand, but the words set a twinge in his chest. He cuddled the man closer and tried to wake him, gently shaking his shoulder. “Captain? Are you with me? What are you talking about? Let him do what?”

                Hector didn’t wake, or answer.

                The door creaked open and Jack appeared, surprised to find both men in bed and only a few of the candles lit. He raised his brows in surprise as he approached, practically tip-toeing across the room until he reached the beside.

                He looked down at Hector tucked against Theodore’s shoulder, “He alright?”

                “Drunk,” Groves whispered.

                Jack seemed vaguely shocked at this, but nodded, slipping out of his boots and coat, dressing himself down to just his pants and slipping onto the mattress beside them.

                “Jack!” Groves laughed softly, trying to budge over to make room, “This bed is not big enough for three.”

                “Of course it is, we’ll make it fit.” Sparrow replied with a lazy smile. He seemed perfectly content to curl up between the other two like a large cat.

                “You were really something out there today,” the black haired Englishmen offered after a moment. “Reminded me of those distant days back in Port Royal. You cut such a dashing figure.”

                Jack turned towards him with an expression of smug delight. “Oh did I now?” he snickered. “Dear Theodore, I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t have a certain taste for those who are illicit and dangerous.”

                “Not to mention duplicitous.” he answered. “Truly though, you were made to captain a ship. Most men are molded by the position, but it’s almost as if you were built for it from the very beginning.”

                “You’re too kind, luv.”

                “What were you and Carina talking about?”

                “Stars, darlin’.” He yawned, getting comfortable against Hector and the other man. “But I shall tell you all that in the morning. For the moment, this Captain requires a good night’s rest.”

 

***

 

                The moon continued her climb into the velvety black canopy above them, the rust and ruby gleam of her light vanished, now shining as pale and cold as bleached bones. The Queen Anne rested in the shallower waters near a small spit of land, unaware that it was being pursued by not one, but two vessels.

                Boostrap had been following the ship at distance since it’s departure, slowly edging forward as it weighed anchor for the evening. He had no real plan yet for what he would do when and if he was discovered. He hadn’t any plan at all really; he just kept driving forward, driven by his sole desire to reach Jack again, to get him alone somewhere where they could talk, where he could explain…everything.

                But the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. His last two attempts with Sparrow had gone less than swimmingly, and this was even less likely to produce favorable results. But he needed Jack, now more than ever. He needed him to help Will, to undo the damage he’d done. Oh but if Jack knew what he’d done…

                No. Jack could never know. At least not until Bill could explain himself. Explain how he’d been out of his mind at the time, how drink and despair and eaten away at his mind over the years. Jack would understand. He’d forgive him. After all, he’d forgiven Hector, hadn’t he?

                All of these jumbled and unsettling thoughts rolled around and around in Bootstraps brains, he noticed what appeared to be a rather small sloop like his own drifting along the water behind him aimlessly. He looked up from the wheel of _The Dying Gull_ , perplexed at the sight. He could see no one aboard it as it drifted closer to him on the current.

                “Ahoy there!” he called into the dark, standing nervously at the wheel.

                No answer came. He licked his lips nervously and called out again, tying off the wheel and moving down to the main deck and closer to the rail, grabbing a lantern as he went in hopes to see better.

                In doing so, he got a glimpse of the main deck and found that the ship was indeed manned. Or had been until recently. Several bodies, sprawled out in various positions of death, littered the deck, which was washed red with blood.

                Bill let out a gasp and quickly moved back to the wheel, turning it hard to avoid the two vessels from colliding. He moved around the drifting ship, his stomach full of ice. Had the crew killed themselves? Or had they been embroiled in battle and lost? From the look of them, they had not been dead very long, yet he had not seen nor heard any sign of a battle.

                It was then that Bill saw the fog that was rising around him from the stern of the ship. He heard the eerie sound of a bell clang in the otherwise soundless emptiness of the open ocean. He turned again, hands growing cold and clammy to see something emerging from the unnatural fog that had stolen up on him in the dark.

                The bowsprit of a ship—broken, ragged, hanging above him like the gaping maw of some ancient sea monster—appeared above him as _The Silent Mary_ stole up on him in the dark just as it had on that first night near The Devil’s Triangle.

                And just like before, he was set upon by the ghostly crew of damned souls that powered the rotting wreck. Suddenly, Bill knew what had become of the other crew. He reached for his sword to defend himself, but was swiftly overpowered.

                The men—if you cold still call them that, for so much of each of them was missing—disarmed him and bound his arms behind his back, forcing him harshly to his knees with their swords raised, one pressed to the soft place beneath is jaw, sure to end him if he struggled.

                “Hola! Senor Turner, I believe it was…” an eerie, wheezing rumble of a voice called in what seemed like a mockingly-cheery tone.  Captain Salazar dropped aboard the deck of the Flying Gull with a soft thud, his hair floating about him in the windless night air as he loped towards Bootstrap, dragging his watching stick ominously across the warped wood of the deck. “We meet again _, hombre_.”

                He bowed to look at the man more closely, “Tell me…did you deliver my message to Jack Sparrow?”

                “No,” Bill muttered quietly.

                At this, the corpse’s face fell into disappointed lines, exaggerating the cracks along the flesh and causing fresh trickles of congealed black blood to dribble from the wounds and the man’s lips as he sneered.

                “Ah. I see. Too bad for you, senor. You have disappointed me.”

                He nodded to his men, signaling him to kill him, but Bootstrap cried out; “Wait! Matador, wait! I have something to offer you!”

                Salazar cocked his head, eyeing the prisoner with a renewed sense of interest. This was not a plea he had heard before. He chuckled softly, and the sound echoed in the stillness and made Bill’s skin ripple with gooseflesh beneath his clothes. “Offer me?” the man quipped, looking in amusement to his crew, who joined him in his humor with soft cackles and jeers of their own.

                The Captain lifted his cane and tapped Bill sharply against the cheek with it. “What could a worm like you offer me?”

                “You seek Jack Sparrow. You want your revenge, do you not? For your defeat?”

                Salazar sneered, more obsidian ooze dribbling from his jaw. “He did not _defeat_ me,” he snarled. “The bastard lead us into a trap, he disregarded the rules of engagement…he cursed us to become…” he stammered for a moment, eyes bulging with rage until he finally spat “ _this_!”

                Bill trembled, but spoke again. “Jack is not far from here. I’ve been following him. I can take you straight to him.” There was a curious hush among them and Bill added quickly; “On one condition; do not kill Sparrow.”

                No sooner had he said this than they laughed in his face, howling to the moon uproariously.

                “Listen to me!” Bill barked, with more courage than he felt. “My son is the Captain of _The Flying Dutchman!_ The ship cursed to roam the seas for eternity, ferrying the souls of the dead to the other side! I am one of his crewmen, I know the ship well and can summon it easily.”

                “What does this matter to me?”

                Bill sucked in a nervous breath, forcing himself to meet Salazar’s gaze. The hellish light in his eyes was the one thing that truly seemed alive. “I have suffered too because of the choices Jack Sparrow has so recklessly made. And we both know, Captain, that there are far worse punishments to be endured than death.”

                “Killing Jack will not satisfy your revenge. His suffering will be over, but yours will remain and you will feel more empty than before. You want Sparrow to know suffering?  Take all that he loves; and leave him alive to mourn the loss. His freedom, his ship, his truest love. Take these things from Jack Sparrow and he will know suffering.

“Let him live. Give him to me; I will bind him to the Dutchman. He will be bound to serve before the mast one hundred years, ne’re to go ashore, ne’re to be free to go where he will and unable to die. His wings effectively clipped. And all the while knowing you still sail. That is how you take your revenge, captain.”

                Even as Bill spoke these things, he felt himself shudder, for they had come from a dark and hidden recess in his heart, a place he was ashamed of, a place created by his time upon the _Dutchman_. The same wickedness that had allowed him to capture, torment and violate Barbossa was what drove him to this desperate deal with the devil before him.

                But it was all he could think of to save Jack’s life. No plea for mercy, no appeal to any higher good would have sufficed. For there was no goodness left in Salazar to appeal to.

                And if Bill felt cold before, it was nothing compared to the consuming cold that filled him as Salazar’s face split into a hideous smile. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

                He motioned for his men to allow Bill to rise, and Bootstrap did, though is legs felt like rubber and threatened to put him right back on the deck. “The bird’s freedom and his ship…these things I understand well. But who is the one who holds his heart?”

                “A man called Hector Barbossa.” Bill’s lips curled even as he spoke this, knowing it was true and hating it all the more. “He sails with Sparrow even now aboard _The Queen Anne’s Revenge_. You will find him there.”

                He wasn’t sure how Salazar would react to Jack’s “true love” being male, but the ghoul did not seem particularly phased. Either he expected some sort of sinful debauchery on Jack’s part or he didn’t feel readily concerned about it.

                The wraith looked to his men, “Bring Mr. Turner aboard the ship. Bring this one in tow.”

                “You will show me this man.” He said, looking to Bill. Bootstrap nodded mutely.

                The gangplank was lowered between the two ships and Bill was marched across, until he stood upon the ruined and blood-stained deck of _The Silent Mary_. The air around him smelled hot and acrid, full of smoke and the scent of burning flesh. Bill was almost sick with it, but he held himself together tightly. This plan, such as it was, had to work. It was his only chance to save Jack from a gruesome fate at this sinister spirits hands.

                He was marched towards the bow as the ship began to move again, carried across the waves at unnatural speeds, slowly closing in on the unsuspecting _Revenge._

 

**

                Clouds covered the moon as the night waxed onward, and below deck in her bunk, Carina woke with a whimper from a terrifying dream that had felt much more so. She sat up, panting and looking around anxiously in the dark, having to remind herself where she was.

                In her dream she had seen the blood colored ocean under the moon again. She had seen the sparrow flying over the waves. The Sparrow she now recognized as a totem for Captain Jack. But this time, where the vision had ended before, she now saw white, corpse like hands reach out of the water, holding the trident, and spear the small bird on the end of it.

                She whimpered, angrily brushing the tears off her cheeks and brought her knees in close, wrapped around herself as she attempted to self-soothe. Having been alone a large chunk of her life, she had learned this early. She was surprised then when she felt a hand on her back and nearly screamed.

                Shandy clapped his hand over her mouth and shushed her, holding his lantern aloft between them. “Shhh! Don’t make a fuss!” he cooed, “it’s only me.”

                She pushed his hand away, only looking angry for a moment and continued to dry her eyes as the boy watched her. “Are you alright?”

                “I’m fine,” the girl muttered. “Bad dream. That’s all.”

                But that didn’t seem like it was the end of it. After a moment, the girl pushed her way out of her blankets and slipped her shoes back on, “I need to talk to Captain Jack. Or someone.”

                The boy nodded, offering to escort her with his light. She nodded gratefully, then asked, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

                “Takes me a long time to sleep. I feel unsettled…don’t you?”

                She nodded.

                They ascended the stairs up the hatch to the upper deck and made their way towards the captain’s quarters, the pair of them sticking to the shadows and staying out of sight of any lingering crewmen on deck.

                Shandy knocked softly upon the door, then tried to latch but found it locked. He tied to peer through the darkened windows in the door, only to see a shadow appear there a moment before the knob turned over and Lt. Groves appeared.

                “Shandy? Carina?”

                The pair took a step back expectantly, “Sorry to disturb sir,” the cabin boy began, glancing to the girl beside him. “Ms. Carina couldn’t sleep. Says she has something important to say to the Captains.”

                “They’re both fast asleep,” Groves answered, adjusting the lacings on the front of his shirt and stepping more fully onto the deck, quietly shutting the door behind him. “As you two should be.”

                “I’m sorry, sir.” Carina said, looking somewhat embarrassed to have come here in the first place. She was too old to be crying after a nightmare, looking for someone to comfort her. She started to turn away, but Groves beckoned her back.

                “It’s alright, Carina. Let’s talk a walk around the deck; the fresh air will help clear your head and you may tell me what’s troubling you. Afterwards, if you still feel it necessary, we’ll wake the captains.”

“Aye sir.” She nodded.

He moved to walk between the pair of them, a hand on each of their shoulders as Carnia began to explain her dream at length.

 

In the cabin, Hector stirred with the loss of one of the warm bodies he had been pinned between. Jack was snoring softly next to him, and Barbossa smiled at him and sat up with a grunt, clambering over Jack’s sleeping form to find his pants and to cast about for his belt and sash. He was vaguely befuddled by the sight of darkness outside, feeling as if he had slept for much longer than he had.

Once he was more dressed, he shook Jack’s shoulder. “Sparrow, where’s Groves?”

                Jack lifted his head with a sharp intact of air that was bordering on a gasp and a snort, hair falling in his face, and Hector did his best not to laugh. “Wot? Where’s who?”

                “Nevermind, go back to sleep.”

                “Well I can’t now,” Jack muttered. The short nap had refreshed him enough anyway. He sat up and studied Hector as the man continued to collect his things from around the cabin.

                “Are you ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

                Hector kept his back to him and kept his silence, but he was thinking about Shansa’s words from earlier. “I once made possibly the greatest mistake of my life hiding things from ye, Jack. I do not wish to repeat that error. But it be a difficult thing to speak of…not just for me own pride, but for how it might affect you.”

                This made Jack raise his brows and move towards him, laying a hand on the man’s back in a comforting gesture. “I would never wish a burden on you for my own sake, luv. Never think that. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, like always, you and I. You must trust me this time, Hector. I’m not as foolish as I once was.”

                The other captain turned around to face him, hugging Jack tight to him. “I will explain everything. But not tonight. My head’s foggy and full of lead.”

                “Yes well, three bottles of wine will do that to man.” Jack answered with a smirk and kissed his cheek. “Very well, you have until tomorrow morning to sort it out. Then we will have a long discussion, you and I.”

 

               

                On the deck of The Silent Mary, Bill was brought to the bow and handed a telescope as the ghost captain loomed beside him. “Show me this man you speak of, the one who holds Sparrow’s heart.”

                Bill nervously took the rusty scope in his hand and lifted it to his eye, spying The Queen Ann in the distance. They were close enough now that he could indeed make out the figures walking about on the deck with some clarity—but he was unsure how the other ship had not yet seen them. Surely it must be some dark magic that shielded them from sight.

                For a few uneasy seconds he could not spy any particularly familiar face, until he happened to notice that one of the large windows at the back of the ship was open and he could see movement inside. Bill turned his focus there, and sure enough, spotted the lovers as they stood together, speaking rather intimately.

                Bill felt another cold pang of jealousy ripple through him and he lowered the spy glass and turned towards Salazar, gruffly giving over the item and pointing towards the window. “There; the tall one with red hair. Unmistakable.”

                Salazar lifted the glass to his own eye and peered ahead. Bill tried not to watch, but his attention was drawn back immediately when he saw a wicked stretch itself across the corpse’s broken smile in a way that promised untold horrors. “Ahh… _si_. That one will do nicely.”

                Bootstrap swallowed dryly. “What are you going to do to him?”

                Salazar ignored him and turned away, shouting orders to his men that Bill only partly understood as they were in Spanish.

                “Wait,” he insisted, following the wraith about the rotten deck. “Capitan, you have to know that if you try to take that ship that Sparrow will fight. We made a deal, you mustn’t harm him. Let me take him from the ship after you’ve made your intentions clear so that he understands what he stands to loose. But you mustn’t damage him, not in any real way. We had an agreement--!”

                Salazar turned on him with hellish eyes and brought his sword blade to Bill’s throat and held it there against his flesh, not cutting him but burning him with the unnatural cold of it all the same. “Ayi, we had an agreement, hombre, you take the Sparrow to your Dutchman…but do not think for a second that you hold any sway over me and mine, little man…the dead will not be commanded by the likes of you. And should you try my patience…I will gut him in front of you.”

                Bill froze and nodded slightly with a shiver as Salazar released him roughly and turned back to his crew. “Come up on her starboard side! Douse the lights…we will be on her shortly.” His crew hastened to man their tasks, and Salazar folded his arms behind his back, looking down at Bill out of the corner of his eye. “I suggest you make for your ship, Mr. Turner…if you fail to meet your end of the bargain, I will put an end to Sparrow on my own terms. Perhaps it will not be as eloquent as your plan…but it will be satisfyingly _painful_.”

 

**

 

                In the dark, the ship glided soundless over the water towards the unsuspecting crew of the Revenge. She could not vanish entirely, but she could become nearly imperceptible in the darkness, nothing but fog and shadow to any wary eyes.

                Groves had taken the children back below deck, towards their bunks, now that Carina seemed more settled, yet as he made to leave them he had an eerie feeling that stole over him there in the deep shadows between the pools of lantern light. Something was on the water with them; he could feel it in his skin, a sixth sense earned from his new powers.

                “Mr. Groves?” Carina asked beside him, her hand at his sleeve. It was clear by her own wary glance she felt it too. A shift in the wind, a foul smell on the air. Something unseemly and malignant. “do you feel it as well?”

                The hair on the back of young Shandy’s neck stood on end as he felt a cold chill take over the deck; something that was notably unseasonable for the balmy Caribbean weather. The Lieutenant gathered them both close, and instead of returning to the bunks he quickly ushered them back into the depths of the hold near the galley, where the crates of supplies and barrels of water were stored. He shoved them both down in the dark and dropped a tarp across them to further obscure them from view. “Stay here, whatever you do. Make no sound, no matter what you may see, no matter what you may hear. If you are discovered, run!”

                He drew away from them and moved instead to the dark, crowded corner beneath one of the hatches that lead up to the main deck, his sword ready at his side, and awaited with wide eyes and baited breath.

                Deeper in the galley, unseen by Groves and the children, Mr. Gibbs was preparing himself a nightcap, when he too sensed that something foul was afoot. As any faithful and alert First Mate would, he hastened to raise an alarm and alert Jack and the others, fumbling with his flask as he moved.

                But he was no sooner to the door than Shansa appeared, slipping in beside him and hastily shut and locked the door behind her.

                “What are you doing there, Miss?”

                The woman raised a finger and pressed it harshly to his lips, taking his burly wrist and dragging him deeper into the galley, arming herself with a long butcher knife that she stole from the cutting board. “Silence, Mr. Gibbs. Only breathe if you must…” she hissed. “They came upon us too quickly, I hadn’t time…now we must be still or we’ll be as dead as they.”

                “What are you talking about?!”

                The woman pulled a handful of what looked like dust and salt from a satchel that hung around her waist, spat into and hurled it on the ground around herself and a Gibbs, wiping the smears of it left on her fingers across her forehead and his.  He winced away from this but she kept him still. “Not a word, not a sound! We are too late to warn the others. We must wait for our chance.”

                Shansa clapped her hand over his mouth and pressed him against the wall, turning back and staring into the darkness of the galley, as one by one figures began to pass through and materialize within the hold.

                The air filled with a foul, acrid smell of burning flesh and ash, as the grey and black shadows glared about the deck with hollow eyes. Gibbs felt his knees quake and his head go light and foggy. He nearly fainted dead away, but grabbed the woman beside him and did his best to hold fast. They were not specters as he’d been told about in tales, nor even the wafting silver shadows of the lost souls he’d seen when they had been trapped on the other side of the green flash, in the world between this and the next.

                These spirits were more like mangled corpses, the souls of spirits that had met horrible and untimely ends. Pieces of them were notably missing; some in the form of arms, legs, hands and feet, while others were missing yet more vital parts…whole torso’s were rendered away, some were missing everything below their rib cages, and others were missing bits of their skulls…if they had one at all to speak of.

                They moved about the deck, eyes alight with a light that was bright but deeply unnatural, shining like embers in a fireplace. But they did not seem to see either Gibbs or the Witch as they ambled about, nor would they draw very close to the circle Shansa had created upon the floor around them. They seemed not to like it, and were repelled if they drew too close.

                But beyond the galley, across the other decks, screams began to echo and shouts of alarm from other crew members. This drew the ghost’s attention and they moved suddenly and with purpose towards the sounds, drawing blackened rapiers and flintlocks as they moved, as if unaware they were broken, burned and very long since dead.

                Only when the last one had vanished did Gibbs suddenly push forward, grabbing Shansa close. “Jack! We have to warn Jack!”

 

**

 

                But it was indeed already much too late to warn Jack of anything.

                Above in the cabin’s quarters, the unsavory shift in the wind had already been noticed by both Captains.

                It was Jack who had become aware of it first, as he had been standing the closest to the window. Perhaps it was his recent encounters with dark magic that made him sensitive to it’s presence, maybe it was the fact that the malignant and vicious will that drove these creatures was largely focused on him. Either way, one moment Jack had been re-dressing himself to go and take the night watch from Cotton, and then next he felt nearly overcome with a powerful malaise.

                The cold, yet burning air, the smell of melted flesh and burned hair, embers and smoke…it overwhelmed Jack so suddenly that he nearly crashed to the floor, had Hector not been there and seen the sudden change.

                “Jack!”

                He caught the man as he fell and dropped to the floor with him as Sparrow crouched on hands and knees, coughing as though he’d taken a lung full of smoke.

                “Oh Gods…he’s here…” he shivered between sputtering breaths.

                “Jack?! What’s the matter with--?”

                Sparrow lifted his head and pointed forward, mouth agape, eyes huge. Barbossa wiped his head up, and saw much to his shock that three new figures had seemed to materialize within the shadows of the cabin, staring at the pair of them with the coal bright eyes nestled deep in dead sockets.

                The smell of death was heavy around them and it burned their lungs to take a deep breath. Still, Barbossa was up in a second, sword drawn, teeth bared like a feral thing.

                The wraiths surged forward, and Hector met them head on. Steel clashed and clanged, and Barbossa struggled to keep his feet. These were skilled fighters, and their strength was inhuman. He cursed them and bellowed for the crew, only to hear the din of more screams coming from beyond the doors of the cabin. They had been invaded.

                Behind him, Jack suddenly found his second wind and got swiftly to his feet, leaping in to help defend his lover, sword flashing. The ghostly crewmen who had stormed the cabin seemed eager for a fight, as though they’d not had the chance to use their blades in sometime and were anxious for blood. But in the pirates they found greater foes than they had encountered since they had been freed from the Triangle. These did not cower in fear, nor assume they could indeed harm them bodily. Their moves were strictly defensive, and motivated by forcing the ghouls back the way they came. The pair finally managed to gain some ground from the advancing spirits. But soon their enemies changed tactics, focusing their efforts on Jack, trying to overwhelm him.

                Hector fought to even the odds, but they came at him still more viciously, driving he and Sparrow apart. Only after a brief duel, Jack found his sword knocked from his hand, earning a painful slice that raked across the back of his hand and up his forearm, and his enemy’s sword point pressed dangerously against his heart.

                “NO!”

                Hector had already been overwhelmed, one particularly foul spirit having forced his sword from his hand and twisted his arms behind his back.

                Jack slowly raised his hands; “Alright ghosty…it seems ye have me at a disadvantage.” He panted, cold sweat beading his face. The ghost before him seemed distracted however, drawing the warm red blood that was dripping from Jack’s injured hand and splattering on the deck at his feet. “Parlay! I demand parlay!” Sparrow added quickly, looking hastily from the man in front of him to the two that had set upon Hector.

                And here, for the first time, the specters spoke, chuckling amongst themselves. “He wishes to speak to _capitan,_ eh? The Sparrow does not know what he asks for; to barter with his own death!”

                The man in front of Jack reached forward and grabbed him roughly, dragging him in front of him with his blade pressed close to his throat. “ _Capitan_ says to bring him the bird and the other one, we do as he says.”

               

                The pair were marched onto the deck, where they saw at once that the ship had indeed been overrun by the burning and dismembered ghosts that had taken them captive.  Jack boggled at the sight in front of him, still not quite understanding how it had all happened so fast with so little warning. He turned his head and saw the grey and blackened wreckage of The Silent Mary looming there in the dark; her ruined sails still baring faint outlines of the bright red Spanish crosses that had adorned them. Looking at her now, Jack remembered her as vividly as the day he’d first seen her. His heart was pounding in his ears, almost deafening him.

                That is, until another kind of thudding sound joined it. This one was a hard, menacing “thunk”, followed by a scraping sound of something being dragged across the deck and a heavy boot fall quickly there after.

                Jack slowly turned his head back towards the approaching sound and set his eyes on the menacing figure that lurched towards him.

                Salazar was a broad figure, larger than life, even in death. He stood taller than Jack by only a few inches, but this was as he was slumped slightly forward, baring a good amount of wait on the cane attached to his hand. The man’s hair, long and inky black, danced and swayed about him as he moved, as if floating on a current.

                His uniform was charred, blackened and blood stained, but still intact. Jack could even make out some of the intricate details he’d spied from before. But of all these things; Salazar’s face was what transfixed him the most.

                His severe and stern visage bore large, gaping cracks across the forehead, and cheeks that splintered down into his jaw, nose and lips, like that of a cracked egg shell. And the gaps between were blackened and seemed to ooze faintly, as though some dark congealed blood lay just beneath the ruined surface.

                “This…this is the Sparrow?” Salazar spoke as he came to stand before Jack, his voice thick, heavy and hoarse. His hand surged forward and grasped Jack’s jaw painfully and pulled him closer, turning his head sharply to the left, then the right. It had been thirty years since he’d last seen Jack, yet the man seemed hardly to have aged in all that time. “This degenerate, sullied mongrel before me? _This is the man responsible for all our suffering?!”_ He looked around at his crewmen, who drew in closer, their eyes (or those of them who still had them) fixed on Jack with a mixture of mockery and hatred. “Ha! It seems time has been unkind to us _both_ , Sparrow!”

                A horrible smile split his cracked lips, revealing blackened teeth and a generous dribble of black blood with rushed down his chin and neck, further staining his uniform.  “Do you remember me, little bird?”

                “H-how could one forget…?” Jack mumbled, a nervous smile on his lips. He gawked at the gaping hole in the side of Salazar’s skull, which became more apparent as the wind that no one else felt moved his hair about. Without thinking, Jack reached up a hand and poked at the man, as if to see if he would pass through him. He found him unsettlingly solid. “Funny…I always thought of you a much taller…”

                Salazar’s broken face curdled and he struck Jack hard, sending him on his hands and knees on the deck. Hector and several of the crew shouted at this, Barbossa nearly breaking free of the men that held him in attempt to defend Jack.

                “Stay still, or I’ll show you the color of your insides.”

                “Ye’d be surprised how little that frightens me, son,” Hector spat back, still struggling to get free.

                At this, Salazar turned his attention from Jack to the other man. “Ah, _si…_ bring me that one _._ Let me see him more closely.” The captain beckoned, waving his men forward.

                Hector was shuffled forward until he stood before Salazar, who moved around Jack’s fallen figure on the deck. The corpse captain approached the other struggling pirate with a sense of growing delight. He pulled out his sword and tapped it lightly along Hector’s long neck.

                “Your name, sailor.”

                “ _Captain_ Barbossa,” Hector sneered, drawing himself up to full height and puffing out his chest as he snarled and glared down the demon before him with an unreserved contempt. “No introductions be needed on your part, _El Matador_. I remember you well.”

                Salazar gave him a delighted smile;  “Ah! How wonderful that my name still echoes across the seas, and especially in the hearts of foul miscreants such as yourself, Capitan…” He leaned a little closer, and brushed his hand along the freckled skin of Hector’s neck under the fringe of his red hair and Hector shivered uncomfortably at the foul sensation.

                “I wonder what else you remember about me…?”

                Hector jerked away from his touch, blinking in confusion, unsure of what to make of this odd attention he was receiving. But Jack was having a very different reaction; eyes widening, suddenly up on his feet and reaching as if he would tear Salazar away from the pirate. Before he could however, he was grabbed and held by Salazar’s first mate; a one eyed man named Lesaro.

                El Matador cocked his head to look at Sparrow, seeing the anger and distress that had abruptly replaced the fear on his features. “Ah, look at the way his feathers ruffle when I touch his things!” he chuckled, flashing another gorey smile and grabbing Hector by the back of the head and pulling him closer to him. “Oh do not worry, _Capitan_ …I will treat him as I would any guest of his stature.” He looked at Jack darkly. “Or is that what worries you?”

                “Don’t you touch him! Don’t you--!” Salazar backhanded him across the face and Jack’s nose and lip both spurted blood.

                “Touch either of us again and you’ll be wishing you were back in the pit that you crawled out of!” Hector barked, and Salazar seized his throat violently and choked the air from his lungs.

 

                From below deck, beneath the hatch that had been ignored in the invasion, Groves crouched, watching the whole exchange with growing ire and concern. With the crew overtaken and the deck swarmed, he’d been trapped below, uncertain how to proceed. It was obvious that any resistance to the ghost was futile and met with either immediate capture, or worse. He had already seen what these creatures could do, and knew it unwise to engage them directly…

                Carina and Shandy emerged slowly from the hiding places, coming to join him there at the steps, peering through the small opening onto the deck. They heard footsteps approaching, and it was Shandy who turned, wielding his own short sword, to see Mr. Gibbs and Shansa appear there in the shadows.

                “Easy lad!” Gibbs hissed at him.

                Groves looked at him hastily, pressing a finger to his lips to signal for silence. He was sure that any sound they made would be easily detected, yet the ghostly crewmen were currently distracted with their Captain’s humiliation of Jack.

                “Be we the only ones left?” Gibbs whispered.

                “They’ve the captains already,” Carina mouthed, hugging her book hard to her chest. She could not bear to glimpse at Salazar for longer than a moment without looking away, pale and shaking. Something about him, more than even the other ghosts, chilled her to her core and disturbed her.

                Shansa reached for Theodore’s arm, watching him nervously fumble with the hilt of his cutlass, “Lieutenant, don’t be rash…”

                “I don’t plan to, madame, unless he leaves me no choice…” he mumbled back. He meant it well enough, trying to recall all of his training as a solider in London and Port Royal, of how he should properly deal with this situation…though he doubted any rules of engagement he recalled would be fitting for dealing with murderous, cursed ghosts.

                But the moment he saw Hector and Jack being attacked, his common sense fled him. Drawing his sword, he charged up onto the deck.

                “UNHAND THEM, YOU FIEND!”

                Everything aboard The Revenge seemed to come to a slow halt, pirates and ghosts alike staring in semi-shock at the daring challenge presented rather haphazardly by the young Lieutenant, who somehow seemed to be the only one aboard the ship that did not realize they were hopelessly outnumbered.

                Salazar released his bruising grip on Barbossa’s throat, and turned slowly towards the newcomer, just as shocked as anyone else at his appearance and his boldness. “What have we here?” the ghoul asked, with a note of pleasant surprise in his voice.

                Grove strode closer to him, keeping position, his sword fixed in front of him, ready to engage. He was the perfect picture of righteous, gentlemanly fury. “Release them, or you will sorely regret it.”

                “Shall I?”

                Salazar seemed utterly delighted by the Lieutenant’s appearance, heedless of his weapon and certainly of his threats. He looked back at both Jack and Hector. “I see we’ve been keeping the finer goods below decks. Tell me, what do you call this one? He is no pirate, though he attempts to look the part.”

                “NO ONE!” The two captains answered in rough unison.

                “He’s no one,” Jack added, pulling against Lesaro’s hold and actually being able to move the other man somewhat in his attempts to hold the pirate. Jack managed to skitter in front of Salazar again, much to the wraith’s surprise. “Just some poor addle brained deck hand! Poor man, doesn’t even know where he is at the moment, probably. It would be a waste of your time and energy—”

                “Then you will not mind if I take him too.” He grinned.

                Groves looked stunned by this thought, but even more so when he was also set upon by still more crewmen, his sword wrestled from his hand the same as had been done to the others.

                Jack stuttered, “T-take? As in, leave with? No-no. No, the only _leaving_ that will be done, will be by you and your crew, just as soon as our little chat is complete, eh? As per the terms of parlay.”

                “You think that I am bound to some ‘law’ laid down by your wasteful forbears?”

                “Parlay does not apply to only pirates,” Jack said, more sharply this time, “and do not pretend not to know, Salazar. The law of the seas apply to all who sail them; no matter what flag they fly.”

                “And you think…” Salazar began, his voice soft and sinister, a wheeze that gurgled up through his rotting throat. “…that I will honor these laws? No man, no God, no creature bound to this earth holds sway over me anymore, Jack Sparrow…the dead rule these waters now. And the dead, abide by no one.”

                He looked to his first mate. “Find a rope of suitable length; string him from the yard arm. See how he flies then!”

                “No!”

                The crew began herding Jack towards the mast cackling as they watched him shout and struggle and curse. The Spanish captain waved to the rest of his men, and suddenly both Hector and Groves were being shoved towards the rail as a ladder was taken over the side and a boat moved across to bear the living captives across the water to where the ghost ship lay in wait.

                “SALAZAR! _SALAZAR!!”_

                Barbossa was fighting tooth and nail to get away, despite the fact he could not hold his footing without his crutch, he wrenched and snarled, crying out to Jack as Groves was ushered down the ladder first, likewise cursing and trying to make for the water.

                Hector’s heart all but leapt into his throat when he saw a rope flung over the yard arm and dangled down towards where Jack stood, and looped over his neck. “JACK! JACK!!”

                “Take a last look, hombre. Next time you see the Sparrow, he will be dangling in the wind.” Salazar mocked, shoving Hector over the side as he screamed.

                For the moment, it seemed that hope was lost as the crew of the Revenge could only stand helplessly by while one captain was captured along with the Lieutenant and the other was about to be strung up.

                Enraptured in the chaos of it all, none of them noticed the tiny sloop that stole up along the back of the Revenge and tethered herself there in the water; nor the sole crewmen who climbed aboard the ship, noticed by all.

                In front of them, Salazar and his officers were moving back towards _The Silent Mary_ , leaving only a handful of men to keep the crew of the _Revenge_ under control.

                Even those guarding Sparrow, who stood with his arms bound and a noose tightened around his neck, had their attentions drawn to their retreating shipmates. This allow Bootstrap to steal up, almost silently next to Jack. He put a hand over the man’s mouth to keep him from making any sound as he used his knife to cut the rope first from Jack’s hands, and then from his neck.

                Sparrow gazed at him in dazed surprise, but Bill kept his palm to Jack’s lips and nodded. They must be silent, or their advantage was gone and they would be lost. They crept slowly away from the guard, and Bill was able to pull Jack out of sight, down below deck.

                “Bill!” Jack whispered, grabbing the man tightly once they were out of ear shot.

                “Shh!” Bootstrap shushed, “Hush, you mustn’t draw their attention. We have to get you away; come I have a ship waiting.”

                “How did you--?”

                Bill took his hand as they hurried along below the deck, headed for a canon port that they could crawl out of, take the line he’d fixed to the back and make their way down to The Dying Gull. “I’ll explain later, we must go!”

                Jack stopped as if to turn back, “Hector and Groves—”

                “We don’t stop! If they see you trying to escape they will kill you where you stand!” Bill hissed.

                “I’m not leaving them with that monster!”

                “You will do them no good by dying!” he took him and shook him roughly, “We escape now, we rescue them when we can. You are no use to anyone dead, understand?”

                Jack nodded dully and let Bill lead him forward again. But they were in sight of the port when they saw movement, and Shandy and Carina rushed forward. “Captain Jack!”

                Bill stopped abruptly. “What…children?”

                Jack ignored his confusion and rushed them both, “Has anyone seen you?”

                “No, sir, Mr. Groves, he—”

                “I already know, luvs.” He nodded, before turning to Bill. “We’re taking them with us.”

                Here Bill looked deeply uncertain. This had not been part of the plan. But there was no time to haggle about it now; and he could not in good conscience leave these innocents to whatever Salazar may decide with the rest of the crew. “Fine then, hurry! Hurry!”

                He ushered the three of them ahead of him until he found where he himself had entered, and climbed out to make sure the line and ship were indeed still secure. Above them, he could see more of Salazar’s crew standing far above them at the rail, but they paid them no mind at all as Bill moved to the rope. He took a chain link and looped it over before reaching back for the boy, Shandy.  “Take this, hold it just so, and let your weight carry you down to the ship. Do not let go, whatever you do, until you reach the deck. Understand?”

                “Aye, sir.”

                Shandy did as instructed and slipped down the rope until he fell upon the deck of The Gull. He rolled and looked back hurriedly, terrified that the sound had alerted the ghosts, but they continued to stand with their backs to them, seeing and hearing nothing.

                Next came Carina, and finally Jack, before Bill made the descent himself, landing easily upon the deck again, and then turning swiftly and cutting the line.

                Carina moved as if to catch it, staring as it strayed out into the water and then looked harshly back at Bootstrap. “What about the others? Are we to just abandon them?”

                “Pirate Code, m’dear.” He said slowly, turning away from her and heading towards the helm. “You there, boy, get those sails down, we need whatever wind we can take. Hurry, be quick about it.”

                Shandy did as he was told, though he too looked at Bootstrap with a wary eye.

                “Captain Jack…Captain, we aren’t really going to leave everyone are we?”

                Jack was standing numbly in the middle of the deck, watching The Silent Mary move slowly away from The Revenge, knowing Hector and Groves were on board; knowing what Salazar would do to his captives, and knowing he was utterly powerless to stop them.

                “Captain?”

                “Do as he says…”

                Bill turned the wheel sharply and they caught the current, already being carried away from where the Revenge was anchored. Jack’s knees gave out and he roughly hit the deck, still staring off at the ship.

                Carina moved beside him, putting a worried arm around his shoulders. “Captain!”

                Sparrow said nothing, as though he were frozen, but Carina could feel his deep distress and was surprised at how much it moved her. She hugged him hard, to comfort him as much as herself. “It’s alright, Captain Sparrow. You’ll think of something. I know you will.”

                “Yes…I’ll think of something..."

 

***


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I'm baaaaaaaaack :)

 

***

 

                The crew of the Silent Mary had dealt with all manner of captives in their time aboard the seas; before the Triangle. They were accustomed to the antics of pirates, especially those who survived long enough to be taken prisoner. They were accustomed to men begging for their lives; accustomed to pleas for clemency, and silver tongued opportunists who tried to wheel and deal their way out of the noose. And of course, they were used to those who knew only violence and would lash out until they were finally rendered to their knees.

                But never had the witnessed the force that was Hector Barbossa; when he was utterly enraged. The frothing, writhing pirate, who had to be carried between two other much stronger and (much more whole) crewmen, as he cursed them until there was no Hell that would have them,  in every tongue he could remember, which also included their own, and struggled harder than most men who were twice his strength and of much better help, given Hector could hardly walk without his crutch.

                Twice as The Silent Mary drifted further away from the Revenge, he nearly broke free, rushing the rail and screaming for Jack, but again and again he was seized and dragged back. Groves; also taken captive and doing his best to make it hard on the bastards who held him, could only stare at his lover and his wild and frantic efforts to fight his way free.

                “Hector! Hector, you must stop!” he called at last when more crewmen came to try and hold Hector down, handling him none too gently, eventually flinging him up against the mast while the bosun moved for his lash.

                “Hector please!”

                “You should listen to your _compadre_ , _senor_ ,” Salazar muttered, though Hector had only more venom to fire at the man, and as Salazar moved closer to survey him, Barbossa managed to turn his head far enough to spit in his face.

                Several of the crewmembers gasped at this insult, and the bosun raised his lash and made to lay it across Hector’s flesh, but it was Salazar himself who staid his hand, much to the surprise of all around him. “Do not waste your arm,” the man replied. “Take him to my cabin. And the other one,” he flicked his head in Groves’ direction, considering for a moment. “The brig. For now.”

                “Why don’t you unhand me and fight like a man you puss-ridden maggot filled bag of flesh?! Or did what little honor you had rot away in the Triangle where you rightly belong!?”  


                A man with an eyepatch and rounded, blunt features, wearing the tatters another high ranking uniformed, moved swiftly towards Barbossa and backhanded him brutally, splitting Hector’s lip and leaving a sizeable gash across his cheek before grabbing him by the throat, “You will not speak to my _capitan_ that way, you mongrel--!”

                “Lesaro!” Salazar barked sternly. “Do as I say!”

                Reluctantly the smaller man nodded, releasing Hector from his cold, iron like grasp and motioning for the men who held him to carry out the order.

                As Hector was pulled away, he turned to look back at Groves, now looking more worried than merely angry. “Keep yer head, don’t listen to a word they say! Don’t stop fighting, not for a second! Theodore, do you hear me!?”

                “Captain!”

                But before either could exchange further words, Hector was dragged from sight, while the other man was forcibly marched below decks.

                Groves did as his lover commanded; he fought. And he was much stronger than Hector now. Unfortunately, not even his extra strength and agility availed him within the confines of these malignant wraiths on their own cursed ship.

                He gawked and marveled in a sickened sort of way at their grotesque and broken forms, wondering what dark magic it was that held them in this horrendous state of limbo, trapped in their broken and burned shells, not alive, but not dead either. The pallor of their skin was that of a day old corpse, cold and grey and lifeless, and many had the same grotesque cracks that oozed black blood across their flesh.

                Groves was forced into a watery, damp cell in the brig. Everything down there was partially submerged in water, and the smell of rot and mildew was heavy, mingling with the salt of the sea water. The green-grey water sloshed over his boots, reach to his shins as he was forced inside the small cell and pressed down onto a bench, his arms dragged up above his head and shackled to the wall. It took three men to finally chain him, but once he was there, Groves felt distinctly that the ship itself had a hold on him, and rattle his shackles though he might, he could not get free.

                The Spainards stepped free of him, but didn’t leave, glancing between themselves and speaking quickly and quietly to each other;

                _“Me sorprende, pensé que el capitán preferiría este.”_

 _“Él quiere romper el otro primero,”_  the other snickered, giving Groves a mean look out of the corner of his dark, clouded eyes.  The man beside him laughed as well, clapping his companion on the shoulder.

                Groves’s lip curled back in a sneer; “Don’t be so smug, I know what you’re saying. What do you mean ‘break’ the other one first?”

                The men just looked at him darkly before the elder looking one, who was missing everything below his left rib and yet still seemed to walk as plainly as Groves did, spoke to him directly. “I wouldn’t wonder on it too long. You’ll be finding out for yourself soon enough.”

                This chilled Groves to the bone and made him pale further, fighting hard against his bonds as the men left alone with nothing but those terrible words and his imagination to occupy him.

 

**

 

                Above deck, Hector was fairing no better. He’d been deposited, rather roughly, by Lesaro and the other shipmates, tossed upon the floor of the cabin before being locked inside.

                Barbossa spat and snarled, trying to wriggle himself up from the floor, but it was it was no good with his hands bound so tightly behind his back and only one leg. He’d managed to roll into a sitting position, pushing himself up against a large, built in cushioned bench that flanked the wall next to the ornate desk—now a burned and blackened husk—just as the door opened again and Salazar emerged.

                “Untie me!” Hector demanded, gnashing his teeth at the man. “Ye cowardly, yellow lived, cow-hearted host for mayflies! Untie me and fight me if you have the gall! It doesn’t end with Sparrow, I promise you that, I’ll make every last second of your wretched existence worse than the lowest circle of  HELL for what you’ve done! Look at me! LOOK AT ME YOU COWARDLY FUCK!”

                But Salazar ignored him, seeming deaf to his threats and curses, moving slowly and deliberately about his cabin, checking his maps and the tattered and burned ledgers upon his desk. In eerie silence, he lit the candles on the silver candle sticks upon the desk, then moved to do the same to several more that stood upon the upper shelf of a large cabinet.

                Hector watched all this with growing unease. Barring all the things that were already unsettling and disturbing about the phantom captain, his silence and indifference was the most alarming. But Hector’s frustration was boiling over, catalyzed by his belief that Jack was indeed finished this time. “I remember you, you hell beast…I remember you, what you were, what you did…you want revenge on Jack for leading you into that cave? It was your own damn fault you died, Salazar. Any man with half a wit could have seen the trap being laid for him, but you didn’t care! You just wanted blood! Now you have it I suppose…it’s an empty taste, isn’t it. No amount of bloodshed can wash clean a black heart like yours—”

                Salazar turned then, eyes like coals, and grabbed Hector by the top of his head, taking a fist full of his hair, dragging him up before slamming him down over his desk and pinning him there by the nape of his neck.

                Hector cried out, more out of being startled than in pain, though that was unmistakable. He squirmed, but Salazar would not let him move, and when he began to speak again, the captain reached beneath him and gripped his groin in harsh grip, giving him a painful squeeze that sent a shiver of pain through the man and made him yelp.

                “Silence,” the man commanded, his voice a low and deadly hiss that made Hector’s eyes widened. More of the poisonous black sludge dribbled from his lips, dripping like candle wax across the table next to Hector as the man leaned over him to speak more closely. “Captain you may have been, hombre, but captain you are no more. Gone is your ship, gone are your men, and gone is your precious, little, _Sparrow._ ” He gave Hector another squeeze and then released him for a moment, only to tear open the buttons on his breeches and shove the man’s clothing down to further get at him, clutching him hard and tight in his cold hand.

                “You belong to me now, si? And you will learn your place here, as every other before you. You live and you die by my whim…and you will suffer, or thrive by it as well.” He stroked Hector roughly, so much so that it took Hector over a minute to realize that the man was actually drawing an arousal out of him, rather than just torturing him at his most vulnerable spot.

                “Ye twisted blighter! No part of me belongs to you or ever—AHH!” Hector cried out in pain as the man dug his nails into the back of his neck, squeezing nearly hard enough for him to feel the vertebrae in his neck grinding together. But his other hand did not stop it’s rough, insistent and harsh treatment.

                “Let go of me!”

                “You must enjoy pain, hombre. Your Sparrow is dead; dangling from the yard arm just as instructed. It is too bad you didn’t hear the snap of his neck when he fell—”

                “STOP!”

                “Did you love him, capitan? I don’t know which of you is more the fool for that. But you are free now, and I will make you see that. You’ll be grateful to me in the end, Barbossa. They always are.”

                The friction was painful, but also intense, and the tension and fear from his trapped position, from the threat of what Salazar would do if he continued to struggle and the way he spoke of Jack’s death…Hector shuddered, pressing his face against the desk, with his teeth clenched tight as the man rocked against, continuing to force his arousal until he was panting for air, face red beneath of the veil of hair that shielded his features from the other man.

                Salazar gave a small, approving smile as he felt the other man’s thighs twitch, and his hips begin to stutter, knowing he was bringing him swiftly towards a harsh and intense climax. Hector tried to twist away, to give himself some reprieve or stave off what would come next. His reward was Salazar burying his fist in his hair, yanking his head up and leaning hard against him while stroking him twice as quickly, grip mercilessly tight.

                “You continue to resist me, even though you know it is hopeless…you are either very foolish, or very brave; for a pirate.” He ground his hips against Hector, threatening to do more than just use his hand on him and set his teeth into his neck, leaving a ring of bleeding and black-stained teeth marks on his pale, freckled skin.  _“Puedes terminar ahora,”_  he hissed in the man’s ear.

                Hector’s mouth fell open as a loud groan was wrenched out of his throat and he shouted as orgasm hit, rough and painfully intense. Salazar gripped him tight, enjoying the feel of the body below his tensing and spasming at his command, breathless and heaving. It was a joy he had not felt in a long, long time.

                As the climax began to fade, Hector felt his body shudder, as if the energy and the warmth of his body was being bled away. His knees buckled and he slumped flat upon the table with a groan, cold and dizzy, breath coming a bit too slowly. The overwhelming urge to sleep covered him, and he went limp and still under Salazar’s hold.

                Salazar waited until he was sure his captive was not about to try to escape again, then hurriedly drew a handkerchief from his jacket and cleaned his hand, eager to be rid of the pirate’s seed that lingered there. He enjoyed seeing men undone by his hands, but he loathed uncleanliness, and the compulsion to purge things of their soiled and defiled nature often took hold after such intimacies.

                The phantom captain behind him slowly released him, dragging the man’s clothes back up before gathering him and discarding him on velvet padded bench below his window seat. On the wall in between the windows there were hooks, where shackles were easily secured. It seemed the captain’s private chambers were well equipped to handle unexpected and unwilling guests.

                He undid the ropes on Hector’s arms and replaced the bindings with one iron shackle that locked around his wrist, leaving the other free. He had little fear of Hector escaping, even with only one hand bound.  He looked down at the unconscious man, taking a moment to consider what it was he wished to do with him. Torture would not be satisfying enough…he must break this one in a way that would tear Sparrow’s heart into pieces. So it had to be perfect.

                “You seem a valiant spirit, Captain Barbossa. It seems almost a shame to destroy such a fierce soul. Alas, what choice do you leave me? A pirate deserves their fate, whatever their talents. Such a pity.”

                He folded his hands behind his back and paced the length of his quarters, mind turning over rapidly, feeling a faint burst of vigor that he’d not had until today. And with Barbossa effectively neutralized and Sparrow kept by Turner for the moment…his thoughts turned to the curious British officer in the hold below deck.

 

**

 

                In the brig, Groves continued to struggle harshly against his bonds, panic setting more thoroughly now that things had quieted for the moment and he was left largely unattended. But no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to free himself from the shackles; which made no sense to him. The Silent Mary was a dialect ship, rotting all around him, suspended in her heavily damaged condition as she was before she properly sunk. Or…perhaps she never really did sink. Either way, it was clear to Groves that sinister forces were at work here, that dark magic was what kept him trapped, despite his strength and his own supernatural abilities.

                He thought about Barbossa, trapped somewhere above him. The words of the guards haunted him and circled around in his head. He could not imagine anyone “breaking” Hector as they seemed certain their Captain would…but stranger things had happened. And Salazar was a terrifying and brutal creature. He might indeed succeed.

                And then of course, his thoughts came to Jack.

                Jack…

                He felt cold, numb, as if his mind could not process the events. Jack could not be dead as the crew around him assured. He would not have died so swiftly and so suddenly. It could not be so. Jack had escaped so many attempts on his life in the past…Groves had been a witness to many of them in fact. He couldn’t be dead. He refused to believe it so.

                There came heavy steps now upon the stairs, and a dark shadow that stretched across the dank, wet floor, reaching towards his cell. Theodore huddled back on the bench that held him, trying to draw away from it, but straightened his back and his shoulders, refusing to appear as the cowering captive before his jailors.

                Salazar appeared then, leaning heavily on is crutch as he made for him. At first he said nothing, but as he drew closer to the bars, Theodore saw a distinct smile upon his face, though it was somewhat gruesome given the state of the man’s broken flesh.

                “Well, I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” The Spaniard chortled, unnerving Groves further by unlocking the door and stepping into the cell with him. His boots sloshed through the water as he came to sit on the bench across from Groves, studying him thoughtfully.  “Interesting…I raid a pirate ship, expecting to find the usual scum and stolen goods…and what I find instead a collection of curiosities.” He raised his cane and prodded Groves in the chest with it. “What _are_ you? No pirate, certainly.”

                “I beg your pardon?” Theodore snapped, eyes flashing.

                But this retort only made Salazar’s dark eyes brighten and his grin split further. “Ah, see! My point exactly…everything about you; the way you held your sword, your ‘threat’ to me upon the deck…even the way you are holding yourself now…you are no undisciplined seadog. Nor even an unskilled sailor. You served the Navy, si?”

                Theodore didn’t answer, jaw set firmly, eyes glaring.

                “Nothing to say to me, eh? Very well…” he pushed himself back up with some effort, but didn’t move towards the cell door yet. “Perhaps I will let you stew a while longer, while I see if _Capitan_ Barbossa is fairing after his last thrashing.”

                This, of course, made Groves jump to his feet, standing though his arms were stretched painfully behind him, “What did you do to him!?”

                “Such a loyal officer,” he replied, his tone poisonous but lyrical, wheezing out through is broken throat. “Or perhaps, it’s more than loyalty that makes you jump to his defense. He was quick to defend your honor as well aboard the ship…what are you? Some prize won in an ill-gotten bargain? Traded away from your ship as a…pet, for these men?”

                Grove’s face went red, eyes wide, and he sucked in a deep inhale of breath before shouting; “How _dare_ you suggest such a vile thing!? I am no one’s _‘pet’_ , I was aboard that ship of my own free will, part of the crew! And yes, I am loyal to my Captains and I will make you pay dearly for the harm you’ve done them!”

                He expected Salazar to snap at him, or to strike him, maybe even run him through with the blade that was ready at his hand, but he did none of these things. Instead, he lowered himself again, which was an effort, and leaned in close, smiling that black-toothed smile. “You don’t know who I am, do you, _hombre_?” he all but purred, lifting his cane and tapping the handle under Theodore’s jaw, forcing him to lift his head a bit higher and look at him more directly. “Your pirate friends…they’ve not told you the stories of _El Matador Del Mar_ …The Butcher…the English call me.”

                “I don’t care about your so-called reputation, Captain Salazar,” Groves hissed in reply. “You should be far more concerned with the reputation of the men you have crossed.”

                The Captain leaned closer, leering at Groves in a way that made him feel as though the ghoul in front of him were peering through his skin. He shivered and tried to move away, and that was when the man set a vice-like grip to his thigh, digging his icy fingers into the flesh and yanked Groves forward to the edge of the bench. This jarring action earned a sharp gasp from the former Lieutenant, who’s eyes widened as he was forced to linger yet closer to the frightening creature.

                “Then do tell me…who’s name is it I should fear, _senor_?”

                “Theodore Groves. Mark it well,” the Englishmen muttered.

                “Ah. A good, proper _English_ name.” Salazar cooed with a throaty chuckle, more of the thick black ooze seeping through the broken flesh. “I’ll be sure to remind you of it in a moment.”

                Groves raised a brow in confusion, only to feel the man force him yet further to the edge, reaching for his waist and forcibly untucking and tearing his clothing, pulling his breeches down his hips and past his knees until he pulled them free completely.

                “What are you doing!?”

                “Reminding you of your place, senor. There are certain privileges you must expect to lose as a captive aboard my ship. Clothing is one of them.”

                “You blackguard!”

                Groves tried to maneuver himself so that his torn shirt would at least cover his groin, but it was useless, and Salazar was suddenly in front of him again, dragging his hips forward and forcing his legs to spread wider.

                If this was a tactic of humiliation, it was certainly effective, Groves thought, trying to pull himself back but unable to get leverage. “What are you doing!? Get away from me, have you no decency man?!”

                “ _Silencio_ ,” the phantom captain commanded, keeping his captive suspended and at great physical disadvantage, moving one cold hand down his thigh, brushing over him briefly and causing Groves to yelp and squirm, before settling beneath him.

                “Don’t touch me! Let go! This is disgusting, you should be ashamed of yourself--!”

                It wasn’t until Salazar actually began to rub his cold, somewhat clammy fingers against him that Groves realized the goal of this attack actually was. It was not merely to scare or intimidate, or humiliate him, though it had done all those things. Salazar wanted something else.

                The younger man tried to grab his chains and hoist himself backwards, away from the probing touch, but there was nowhere to go, and Salazar’s grip was as cold and biting as the rusty shackles that held him.

                “So much protest,” the Spaniard mused, continuing to tease him. “I should have thought you’d be used to this treatment by now, considering the company you keep.”

                This made Groves see red again and he spat at the man, hitting him full in the face. Salazar winced, then wiped away the offending spittle, giving a small shudder of displeasure before moving his hand from Groves’ thigh to his jaw and squeezing hard. “You get _one_ , hombre. Only one. Because the next time you pay me insult, I will show you suffering. But wont’ be on your head. Your Capitan Barbossa holds responsibility for you, after all.”

                At this, Groves grew paler still and finally ceased his struggle, though he quivered and tensed, hating the way the man felt against him and that even through all this, his attentions had not stopped. Groves yelped harshly when he felt his fingers, two at once, force their way through the clenched muscle.

                “Try to relax,” Salazar cooed, flexing the digits slowly, removing them only briefly before pushing back in, moving inward and upward slowly as to not damage the man’s delicate insides. “I do not do this to punish you, Senor Groves. Very much otherwise. You are not like the rest of that plague ridden rabble. You came from good stock, and it shows. Somehow, misfortune brought you into this den of wolves. I have seen so many good men fall from grace; unrepentant. And I have punished them for that.”

                Theodore’s face was starting to flush and his breathing was coming a bit more harshly now, but he kept his eyes shut and refused to look at Salazar, who did not seem to mind. He leaned a bit closer, hair ghosting over Groves’ skin and spoke quietly at his ear as his fingers moved deeper and quicker, seeming to know their purpose exactly.

                “But you…I sense there is some hope left for you still. Something that can be saved.” The Spaniard continued to muse thoughtfully, enjoying the reactions he was eliciting form his captive. Groves was trying so hard not speak, not to make a sound, to remain passive and wait this out, but he felt himself swelling and lengthening in full view of the man in front of him and he couldn’t stop himself from whimpering when Salazar rolled his fingertips across his prostate.

                “Tell me more about the Sparrow…what is your involvement with him? How did he find you?”

                “What business is it of yours?” Groves hissed, panting harshly now.

                “My ship. My business.” The other replied with that same lyrical hiss from his throat. He lingered close to the man, not just for leverage or to impress upon him further the utter helplessness of his situation but to savor how warm he was, how alive he was. Living things did not last long in the Triangle. Anything that wandered in there was swiftly destroyed and devoured by the wraiths he and his men had become; starved for light, starved for life itself. The Triangle had turned them into unholy, unnatural things.

                “Press-ganged perhaps?”

                Groves didn’t say anything in answer, hips rolling reflexively, his erection exposed and pulsing faintly in response to the intense sensations that were being force through his nerves. He was not going to last long like this.

                “I would have assumed captive, but the way you jumped to their defense, and the way they came at once to yours says otherwise. Perhaps they have you convinced that indeed their way is the only way of ‘freedom’? HA!”

                “Jack Sparrow is twice the man you ever were in life, you fucking bastard!”

                Salazar drove his fingers in to the knuckle, stealing Groves’s breath and making stars wink in front of his eyes at the intense ripple of pleasure-pain in caused. Salazar’s other hand closed around his throat, not choking him but stifling the amount of blood rushing to his head, causing another discomfort followed by a head-rush that made the man still more pliable, allowing Salazar to move faster and harder.

                “Jack Sparrow is a feast for crows, as he well should have been long ago! Your captain is dead, the other soon to join. So who will be your captain now, Senor Groves?”

                Theodore tried to choke out an answer, only to feel the hot coil in his stomach suddenly clench and then unravel hastily, forcing him to climax with a shudder and a rasp for air. But Salazar did not withdraw right away, even though he felt the man clenching around his fingers in response to the spasm and continued the overstimulating assault on his nerves until Theodore was almost in tears, begging for it stop. Only then did he pull away, cleaning his hand and letting the man sag heavily onto the bench, breathing hard before falling into a dead faint.

                The captain stood, a satisfied smile on his face, and excused himself from the cell, moving swiftly up the stairs to the main deck. He stood there, surveying the sea in front of him, already replaying the encounter over in his head, finding himself oddly preoccupied with the man below deck. Much more so than he had expected.

                Lost in thought as he was, he did not immediately notice the stares of his men, until more than a dozen of them had ceased in their work and had paused to look at him. Then Salazar drew himself from his reviere, glaring around at them. “What is it? What are you all looking at?”

                “Capitan…your face…!” the man who spoke was one of the younger crewmen, named Bracero. His own ghostly form was broken, missing his right arm and a large chunk of his midriff. But his face was largely in tact, and Salazar could see the wide-eyed astonishment in his sunken eyes.

                He frowned, not understanding and reached to touch the broken flesh…to find it more solid to the touch than before.

                “A mirror, quickly!”

                The crew scattered, trying to fulfill his request. It was Lessaro who found a bit of broken glass, which he shinned hurriedly as he brought it to his Captain, his eyes drifting to the bit of cloth that was tossed over Salazar’s shoulder, which obviously did not belong to him.

                Salazar studied his reflection in the dingy glass, and was startled. The cracks along his skull, the thick bloody splinters of flesh, had begun to close up, the larger ones narrowing and the thin, spider-like lines vanished altogether.

                But this…how could this be?

                “Captain, do you feel…different?” his First Mate asked curiously. He touched the man’s arm, finding that Salazar felt slightly firmer than before.

                “Yes,” the other man answered tentatively. He did feel different. He’d felt different ever since his encounter with Barbossa in the cabin; a burst of energy that had not been there before. But now it was twice as strong. What had changed?

                Contact with these warm, living bodies…surely that must be the source of it. But why?

                “Sir…are those the Englishman’s pants?” Lessaro asked after a moment, looking both very confused and somewhat troubled. Salazar cocked his head and blinked at him, then realized he was still carrying the stolen bit of clothing from his captive. He pulled them hurriedly from his shoulder and clenched them in his hand, turning on heel and making for his cabin. “Nevermind that.”

                The shorter, one-eyed man followed him, however, trailing at his heels like a faithful hound. This was perhaps the best way to describe his First Mate. “Sir, wait! Let me have a look at you to be sure—”

                “I am fine,” Salazar hissed to him. “I need to think. I need…” he paused, and instead moved towards the hatch heading below deck, confusing Lessaro even further.

                “Sir!”

                He followed the man down to foot of the stairs, watching as Salazar moved hastily back towards where Groves dangled in his cell.

                The poor Lieutenant just seemed to be recovering, groaning faintly in discomfort and dismay, only to lift his head and see El Matador making a bee-line for him. The man shouted and strained against his chains as the Captain stepped inside his cell again.

                “N-no! Get away from me, don’t you dare--!”

                He lifted his legs as if to kick the man back, but Salazar easily avoided the blow and reached out with both hands, pressing his palms flat against the man’s chest, a look of intense concentration upon his face. Within seconds of setting his hands upon the man, he began to feel it; the rush of warmth in his previously cold and numb extremities, the swelling of energy that coursed like an electric shock from Theodore’s body to his.

                Groves shouted at this, the intense sensation becoming something akin to being burned; his nerves jolting and jumping, trying to disengage from the touch but unable to do so. Pressure built up in his chest and he felt like the air in his body was all being pulled forward and out. But as intense as it all was, it only lasted a few seconds, before even Salazar was overwhelmed by it, and released his hold, falling back against the bars.

                Lessaro rushed to catch him, propping up the heavy man against his own short, stout frame. “ _Capitan_!  What has happened!? What did you--?”

                Salazar sagged against him for a moment, tendrils of inky black hair swirling around him as he recovered from the experience. He stared at down at his palms, noting that they looked flushed and hot; that the ashen grey flesh had color to it again, if only in the palest hue of peach.

                Lessaro’s hand moved aside some of his hair, and Salazar almost didn’t notice until he heard the man gasp softly. “Senor…your head…”

                The Captain righted himself fully, moving his hands to his skull. Before, a rather large chunk of it was missing, cracked completely wide on one side and punctured on the other as well.  But the gaping hole that had been was no longer so vast…Salazar could feel bone and tissue there, though it felt soft and mailable. The hole itself had shrunk to something the size his fist, rather than that of a dinner plate.

                As Salazar marveled at this, Lessaro’s eye moved from his Captain to the collapsed man in the cell. “How…?”

                His commander was moving again on his own, leaving Lessaro behind without any further explanation and making swiftly for the stairs.

                “Sir! Sir, what shall I tell the men?”

                “Nothing for the moment,” Salazar muttered hurriedly, once more heading for his cabin. “Keep an eye on that one,” he added, speaking in reference to Groves. “See that he’s kept alive. I have much to consider…”

                Before he could be questioned further, he slipped into the dank sanctuary of his cabin, shutting the door too loudly behind him. He paced the floor, wind working frantically, muttering and mumbling excitedly to himself. Once more he recalled the discarded fabric that was flung over his shoulder and pulled it free, examining it for a moment before absently folding it into neat lines and lying it on a bench near his bed and wardrobe.

               

All the noise and movement had roused Barbossa from his stupor, causing him to groan quietly and open his eyes, slowly gaining focus on the room and the pacing villain before him. He remained very still as awareness snapped back, reminding him that he was in a dangerous place with a very volatile and violent host. It would not due to draw attention to himself.

Still, even after a few moments of wakefulness, Hector could tell that something had changed. The man before him seemed agitated, excited and something about him seemed…different. Though from his current position he couldn’t place what. He shifted, just faintly, and found himself shackled to the wall. A displeasing discovery to be certain.

He’d already been stripped of anything he could use to arm himself, except his rings and the necklace that hung around his neck. He used his free hand to clutch at it, considering. If Salazar tried to attack him again at such close range, he could possibly use it to choke him…though it would likely do little good, considering the man was already dead.

He watched the way the man’s hair flowed and followed behind him as he moved; it was almost hypnotizing. That, and the little bits of embers and ash that would sometimes fall from his uniform, as if he had just escaped the fire that must have consumed the ship…

Hector’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something he could use, anything at all. It was then his gaze fell on the oddly out of place bit of clothing near the wardrobe. He would have ignored its mundane presence completely, were it not so starkly different from everything else in the ruined remains of the once grand captain’s quarters.

He sat up, the chains clinking, alerting Salazar to his presence once more. “What are…?” Hector thought perhaps he’d gone insane for a moment, but he was sure that the clothing belonged to Groves. And that caused him to tense, snapping his head in Salazar’s direction.  “Where is he?” he muttered, barely restraining himself. Were his hands free he would have leapt at the man, beaten him to a bloody pulp, broken his skull all over again….

And that was when he noticed it.  The Captain’s horrific form had somehow morphed into something far more recognizable to the last memory Barbossa had of the old villain. He was still very dead, but indeed more human looking and whole.

“What the devil…?”

“Curious, isn’t it?” the Spaniard mused, finally pausing in his steps to acknowledge the man sprawled and chained before him. “But I have no answers to give you, Barbossa. But perhaps you have some that you might offer me…and extend your usefulness.”

“Fuck off!”

The wraith glowered at him for a moment before violently backhanding him, leaving a stark red mark across Hector’s face and bloodying his nose and lip. “You will show respect while you are aboard my ship, Pirate Lord. You have no power here, no rights, no one to command. You are at my mercy, and as you know, I have none for the likes of you.”

Blood dripped from Hector’s face onto the velvet cushions of the bed, causing Salazar to almost squirm with discomfort. He produced a handkerchief from his coat and held it out for the pirate. “Clean yourself up…I’ll not have you ruining my things with your filth.”

To this, Hector spat at him, spraying him with spit and blood, forcing the man to recoil in disgust. “Kill me then! Go on ye coward! I’d rather die than listen to another minute of your disgusting wheeze of a voice! I’ll gladly meet ye in Hell and make you pay for what you’ve done!”

“Killing your beloved Sparrow?” El Matador replied, hastily cleaning himself, though he turned his back to Hector to do so. “How does it feel, knowing you failed him in the end? That in his hour of need you proved utterly useless—”

Hector was straining against the chains, trying to get at the man, not caring that his crutch was gone or that he was literally bolted to the wall. He wanted blood. He wanted Salazar’s rotting grey flesh under his nails. “SHUT UP!”

“And how much worse will the pain be, knowing you cannot save the other?”

The bolts anchoring the shackles to the wall actually moaned and whined as Barbossa’s furious struggle began to loosen them from the rotting wood. Salazar’s eyes widened faintly, looking upon his straining captive with a new air of surprise; he was impressed.

“You have passion, Capitan…and a force of will I’ve rarely seen in your kind. I admit…it gives one pause. Groves is your Lieutenant, yes?”

There was no point in asking how the man knew this; he must have already interrogated Groves, managed to get at least some basic information out of him. Most likely by force.

“You’re concerned for his welfare. The mark of an empathetic Captain. You must have shown some prowess to inspire the loyalty he shows in return.” The man paused again, an eerie smile creeping across his cracked and blackened lips and added, “He’s special, si?”

Hector didn’t answer this, but stilled for the moment, though he remained coiled and ready to fight should Salazar make any advances towards him. He did not like at all the Spanish captain’s sudden interest in the crewmen, nor his probing about Hector’s relationship to him. Clearly the man wanted to use Groves as leverage to keep him under his heel. He couldn’t give him that advantage, he’d already taken far too much from him.

“You’ve killed Sparrow…does that not serve as revenge enough?” he muttered, ignoring the man’s last question. Clearly killing Jack had not released the man from his supernatural bonds to the earth, despite the change in him that he now observed. “What purpose do we serve, save to slake your sadistic bloodlust?” he asked. “And don’t play coy…I know well the rumors that followed your notorious name, _El Matador_. But neither the Lieutenant or I will be the easy prey you’re so accustomed to. Or were accustomed to, I suppose.”

Salazar regarded him coldly, but didn’t rise to his bait, continuing to slowly pace the room as he thought. Barbossa scowled at him, considering him.

“Nine Pirate Lords, were there not?” Salazar asked then, abruptly changing the subject and catching his weary captive by surprise yet again.

“What?”

“Nine. Nine Pirate Lords. I disdain all that you are, Barbossa, but I am not ignorant in the ways of your… _Brethren_. Nine Pirate Lords to take command of the seas. What has become of my old enemies? Surely the rats have thrived without the cat to keep them from breeding and spreading their plague across the oceans.”

“There are other cats than you,” came the reply. “But no matter how we may be hunted, never shall we die. What calls us to bear the black flag be stronger than you or any man.”

“Does their nest still lay in that fabled place…what was it they called it; ShipWreck Cove?” the other quipped thoughtfully. “Once I dreamt of laying waste to that den of wolves…I think it is high time for that dream to come to fruition.”

This gave Hector a shudder, but he said nothing in retort until the man moved towards him again. “You will be so kind as to provide us a heading of course.”

“Aye, gladly. Just as soon as you politely choke on a cock and die.” The redhead snapped.

The insult cost him this time, causing Salazar to seize him with both hands, shoving him down into the padding of the bench, hands clapped to his skin as Hector felt a sudden, intense pull of warmth and energy from his skin that made him shudder and howl in pain as a full body ache swept over, causing him to arch and writhe. He tried to push Salazar off him, but the man’s skin seemed melded to his and it could not be budged.

The wraith leered down at him, eyes full of hellish delight as he drained Hector of his energy in a quick, agonizing burst, pulling away after only a few seconds. But a few seconds was enough; as it left Barbossa pale and limp and breathing shallowly upon the mat, senseless and cold.

The rush sent a shiver of pleasure through the other captain and he felt a brief burst of warmth return him as the pirate’s stolen energy swirled and surged before settling inside him, piecing him slowly back together.

With his newfound energy came sharpened focus. Leaving the captain behind, he made his way once more out onto the deck, surprising the crew once more with his steadily altering appearance.

“Sir?”

“Set us a course to follow Mr. Turner and his refugees. I do not want him getting too comfortable, si?”

It was Lessaro, of course, who came to his side as the others rushed to follow his command. “Then you mean to take the Sparrow from him, sir?”

“Si,” Salazar answered. “The bird is mine; I mean to take my time with him, make him suffer slowly as I have these long years. No pathetic deckhand and his agenda will deny me my revenge.”

This, of course did not surprise his first mate; as he had expected this of his captain. He had never fully believed that he would have accepted the deal with the man who called himself Turner; not when for all their hellish time in the Triangle he had cursed and moaned and fantasied of bathing Sparrow’s blood.

“And what of the other pirates, sir?”

“They have not yet outlived their usefulness to me.” He answered curtly, almost as though he were vaguely frustrated by the question. “Once Sparrow is slain, I intend to deliver his corpse to Shipwreck Cove, and fling it upon their gate. So that they will know that their end has come at last. Barbossa will lead us there and if he resists, I will get a heading out of him at any rate. Sparrow can have a last look at him before they join each other in Hell.”

Lessaro shuddered faintly. His Captain had not always been this fiendish, but the Curse had taken what was already a deep run hatred and turned it into something much more sinister and blood thirsty. “Truly their kind will know an end. Just as you always wanted, Capitan.”

“Yes, Lessaro. It is within my grasp.” He offered his First Mate a brilliant smile through black tinged gums, a hellish sparkle in his eyes. He could almost see the man he had been thirty years before.

“Soon, senor, very soon now.”

 

**

                Below deck, Groves had regained himself, head aching vaguely as he gathered his wits, and recalled almost immediately the precarious situation he now found himself in. He looked down at his ruined state of undress and surpressed a shudder when he remembered what had transpired between him and the ghostly captain.

                He wanted to put it immediately from his thoughts; his attention turning to other priorities. He knew that Hector was trapped elsewhere on the ship—in the cabin if he recalled. He feared deeply for his lover’s life. He had already lost Jack…

                Swallowing down the sorrow and helplessness that threatened to consume him, he began to pull and tug at his shackles, trying to free the chains from the rotted wood that contained them. They creaked and groaned, but would not give way. The nails had become too rusted and warped overtime. Or perhaps the same devilish power that possessed the crew held it in place, trying to keep him there. Indeed, the entire vessel felt alive with this malignant darkness; not just the crew.

                But in his struggles he began to overhear voices and he stilled quickly, listening. Even in his human form, his hearing was quiet good.

                “…why are we following the ship?” one man asked another as they descended the stairs.

                “Because El Capitan is not through with the Sparrow yet, you fool! You did not think that he would really let the Englishmen escape with him, eh?”

                Groves froze, becoming as still as he dared, pretending to be limp and lifeless, listening.

                “El Capitan is a hard man to predict,” the other crewmen, who was little more than a floating torso and half a head answered to his handless and partially disemboweled shipmate. “But once we catch up to the Englishmen called Turner and the bird, all will be right again.”

                “Sparrow’s blood will break the curse?”

                “I do not know. Does it matter? The pirate will pay, and soon so will the rest.”

                The pair barely spared Groves’ dangling form a passing glance as they moved deeper into the haul, but the moment they were gone, the merman sat upright, staring after them.

                Jack was alive. Jack was _alive!_

                He had to escape now, more urgently than before. He needed to tell Hector, to free him and go wherever Bill had taken Jack. He needed to warn them that Salazar was coming…and that Bill had been part of the plan all along.

                As this dawned on the man, he felt himself possessed with a new strength born of anger. Turner had called himself Jack’s friend. He was a fool to trust the man; he’d led the treacherous back-biter right to Sparrow!

                The more he thought of this, the angry he became and his hands twisted and pulled within the shackles, forcing his hands to fold inwards as they slipped through the rusty coil of the manacles until all at once—he was free!

                He sat forward with a hiss, rubbing his aching apendages, and then moved swiftly towards the bars of his cell—of course it was locked, but it was easy enough for him to remove the door himself—a trick handed down by another Turner. One he didn’t yet know shared a relationship with the man at hand.

                Cautiously, the former Leuitenant managed to slip outside his prison and started towards the stairs…he heard noises though, growing all too close. He crept up the steps towards the latch and peered through the small crack he produced as he pushed faintly upward with his fingers. The crewmen above were all standing several yards away, none partically close, all preoccupied with their tasks. As Groves peered around he spotted the path to the Captain’s cabin. He could get there in a few short strides…but he had to hurry.

                The crewmen that had come below deck were returning. Groves needed to deter them before they spotted him. He was crouching there, naked save for his wet shirt…

                Oh bother.

                Flushing faintly in embarrassment and slightly bruised pride, he stripped off his only remaining piece of clothing and flung the sopping wet item across the deck, where it landed with a wet “thud” upon the floor.

                Sure enough, it drew the approaching crewmen away and he had time to lift the latch and run—in naught but his skin—to the cabin door.

                His heart thudding in his ears, barely drawing a breath as he darted, he reached the door, found it unlocked and slipped hastily inside, panting as he slipped it shut behind him and leaned there for a moment, shaking with nerves and trying to catch his breath. He waited for the sound of an alarm, but none came.

                It seemed for the moment, his escape had gone unnoticed.

                He turned then, looking across the once grand captain’s quarters, that now looked like a dreary tomb in comparison to what it once had been, and spotted Hector sprawled near the window, chained and senseless.

                Groves ran to him, gathering his arms around him and pulling him close, feeling for a pulse or breath or anything…oh God, please don’t let him be too late!

                But the man below him was indeed, very much alive, if not worse for wear.  Groves peppered his battered and bruised face with kisses, kneeling beside him on the floor, stroking his hair and face as he attempted to rouse him.

                “Hector! Hector, my love, please! Wake up, look at me! You’re so cold…”

                He could sense that something had happened to his lover, something not too dissimilar to what he himself experienced when Salazar had drained him. Oh but if Salazar had done the same to Hector…

                Barbossa’s eyes flickered open then and Groves breathed a heavy sigh of relief, gathering him closer against him. “Oh thank God!”

                “Theodore?”

                Hector felt groggy and dazed, cold and aching to the touch, but all this paled in comparison to his momentary shock as he regarded the man above him, who was crouched there naked as you please, looking both relieved and very worried all at once. He pulled back from his grasp a bit to look at him more clearly, trying to understand…

                “How did ye…? Why are you…?”

                “Nevermind that, Captain. I’m fine and soon you will be.” He began tugging at the chains, trying to see if he could break or loosen them enough to free Hector’s hand. “We’re getting the HELL off this ship! Jack’s alive! It was some ruse concocted by that mad ghoul Salazar and that Turner fellow. I never should have trusted him so easily—”

                Hector’s free hand came up and grabbed his wrist then, eyes wide. “Jack’s alive? And with…Turner?”

                “Aye. Bill Turner. I met him in my travels, he brought me to your port, said he was looking for Jack as well. I thought he was a friend—” He tried again to break the chains, but Hector pulled his hand away.

                “Go. Leave me and make a run for it.”

                “What?! Don’t be ridiculous, darling, I’m not leaving you here, like this with that-that _thing_!”

                “I said leave me!” Hector barked then, raising his voice far louder than was safe and startling the man before him.  Hector pushed himself up, though he looked a shaken, pale mess. His eyes had a feverish nervous light to them and Groves could sense that he was suddenly full of intense fear. “Jack be the one that needs you now. You don’t know what Bill Turner is…that backstabbing, covetous liar! He gave his word!”

                “Hector! Hector, shh!”

                The Lieutenant looked worriedly back at the door, fearing someone would hear. Surely it would only be a matter of time before his holding cell was discovered empty and an alarm would be raised. “Love, you’re not making any sense. Gave his word about what?”

                “That he would leave Jack and I alone! The old devil…why did I believe him? Why did I think for even a second that he wouldn’t take the chance when he had it? Even after I let him…” his face crumpled, unable to say the words a hot bile rose in the back of his throat and he shook like a leaf. Groves could see the dampness at the edges of his eyes.

                Realization dawned over the man then. Hector’s odd behavior, the paranoia, the skittishness, the muttered words in the cabin just the night before.  Groves’ eyes narrowed, pupils changing, becoming dark narrow slits. “He hurt you.”

                “The bastard was mad…raving…he took me from The Queen Ann in the dark, him and his son, who now captains the Flying Dutchman. He wanted revenge for what I did to him in the mutiny, he wanted Jack, kept saying he’d take him by force, that they belonged together…that Sparrow owed him. I couldn’t let him get to Jack, so I…I made a bargain. And I let him defile me to appease him.”  The words were spat out like poison, cracked and dripping with rage and shame. He could not even bring himself to look Groves in the eye. What he must think of him.

                “I will kill him.” Groves hissed, and it was then that Hector saw the change in him. But he grabbed hold of him, making the man look him in the eye. “This is why ye must leave me here. I’m too weak to attempt those waves, I’d only slow you down and there’s no time to be wasted! If Bill’s part of this plot, who knows what he’s done to Jack by now! You have to go to them, find him, get Sparrow AWAY from him!”

                “I-I can’t leave you here!”

                “Ye must! Jack’s in far greater danger than I just now.”

                He could hear more noise outside the door. “There’s no more time. Go. GO!”

                Groves looked utterly heartbroken at the choice before him; but Hector was regrettably right. He leaned in and kissed the man hard and passionately, cupping his face between his hands. “I will come back for you. I swear it!”

                “I know. Now go!”

                Groves wrenched himself away from his captain and turned, making heavy strides towards the door. There was no more time to waste; he pulled open the door and darted, (still absolutely naked) across the crowded deck.

                The crew of the Silent Mary took notice of course; turning in surprise to gawk at the more than unusual spectacle that graced their gloomy deck. There were shouts of alarm and surprise, pointing and staring. A few of the more collected crewmen made to chase after or grab the man, but Groves avoided them nimbly, leaping up onto the railing.

                “Stay back!” he hissed at them.

                All the commotion caught Salazar’s attention then from the helm, and he came down quickly to inspect the situation, Lieutenant Moss and Lessaro at his side. “ _Capitan_ , I think this one had snapped.” Moss, the younger of the three with most of his face burned to cinders suggested.

                “I tell you, these English dogs, they never last long. It was a mistake bringing this one aboard.”

                “Quiet,” The Captain hissed at both of them, moving closer to where Groves had made his stand, cheeks flushed faintly with mild humiliation as he stood there naked, with only his hand to cover himself.

                “ _Senor_ Groves! This is a very… _como se dice_ …bold attempt you are making, eh? Prepared to throw yourself into the sea? There’s no need to be so hasty to meet your death. Especially when it already regards you so fondly.” He gave the sailor another black tinged smile that sent unpleasant shudder through the man clinging to the rigging.

                “You under estimate we pirates, Captain Salazar. That was your downfall before, and I very much think it will be the same now.” He answered.

                The dark haired man’s lip curled back in an angry sneer and he nodded to his men. “Get him down from there.”

                But before any of the ghostly crew could get a hand upon him, Groves dove from his place on the rail, diving down head first into the waves.

                Startled, the crew rushed the rail to look over the side, including Salazar.

                For a moment the captain looked stunned, then scoffed, shaking his head in irritation; “The fool! He has nowhere to go! Look for him, bring him up when he surfaces! He will be begging to be back in the brig when I am through with him.”

                But, as the men watched, nothing surfaced in the water. There were no bubbles, nor barely a ripple where the man had vanished, and the ship was already drifting past it. Perhaps the Englishmen really had chosen a watery death over being prisoner aboard the Mary…he would not have been the first.

And then quite abruptly, there was a rush of movement beneath the water. The crew could see flashes of color; streaks of color and glimmering light reflecting back at them in the sun and then…

A figure erupted from the foaming waves, arching in the air before crashing back down. The men cried out in surprise and bewilderment…

The Englishman was no mere man at all. He had grown a tail like a fish, and gills and scales like one too. He was no human at all, but one of the creatures of Poseidon’s depths. A merman!

        The crew, especially the younger officers, were all rushing about, trying to keep the pod of mercreatures in their sights, all speaking excitedly as though they were school children. The older men were trying to reign them back and bring order…but even they had to admit this was a turn of events they were not expecting. So the pirates now had the creatures of the deep in their thrall. Surely that was an ill-omen.

        Lessaro looked slowly to Salazar, watching as all this unfolded in his mind. For he was indeed as surprised as anyone else that the young man had been anything more than what he seemed. For a moment there was an air of…fascination about him.  It began to make sense…taking energy from a supernatural being would of course abed the curse and heal him with greater potency than that of a mere mortal…

        But now it was gone. Groves was already outdistancing them by leaps and bounds before Salazar’s face fell into familiar angry lines of rage and he began to curse and spit, his long raven hair whipping about behind him as he shoved through the gawking crowd. “TO YOUR POSTS! STOP STANDING AROUND! AFTER THEM!”

        “Aye Capitan!”

        The man turned, bones creaking and aching, leaning heavily on his cane as he stormed back towards his cabin, hellish fire in his yellow eyes. He threw open the door, nearly tearing it from it’s hinge and found Barbossa where he had left him, reclining easily against the window with a smug satisfied look upon his face.

        “Something wrong, Captain? Ye look as if you’ve…misplaced something.” The Pirate Lord quipped, even as Salazar rushed him, grabbing him brutally by the front of his shirt and shaking him like a rag doll.

        “You neglect to tell me, _Capitan_ , that your little associate was a **_merman_**!”

        Hector shrugged, despite the way his head and neck sang with pain, gripping Salazar’s cold hands and forcing them away from him. _“Ah, but ye didn’t ask!”_

Salazar roared in rage and struck the man violently, before shoving him against the window, nearly threatening to put him through it. He lifted his sword, quite ready to run Hector through and shatter the glass, but stopped just as the point of the blade was pressed against the soft flesh of his stomach.

“Without me, ye stand no chance of finding Shipwreck Cove! And without that, yer plans for revenge on Sparrow fall woefully short of the grandiosity you have so long schemed for.” He gurgled through clenched and bloodied teeth as the man held him by his neck.

        Slowly, Salazar released him and let him fall, striking him once more to silence him. “Bloody pirates…” he hissed.

 

***


End file.
